Andate, Andarta
by Rosabell
Summary: Post-Dragon Age 2; Hawke and company flee to Vigil's Keep and meet the wise and powerful Warden. Two mighty heroes join forces to stop a war that threatens Thedas. F!Hawke, F!Amell. No slash
1. Chapter 1

Andate, Andarta

1.

The cheerful sunlight bathed Vigil's Keep in an aura of gold. According to Anders, the keep had been in a rather rotten state when he left, but a decade was, perhaps, long enough to restore and refurbish so that everything looked grand and majestic once more.

"You'd like her, I think," Anders said, "Unless she's changed a lot. I haven't been keeping in touch," He winced a little, "What can I say? I'm an ass."

"That you are," Isabela agreed, "But she wasn't, not if I remember correctly."

"She's a mage?" Fenris asked.

"Yes," Andarta nodded, "But it's not like we have much of a choice at this stage."

There were Grey Wardens stationed as guards behind the gates and on top of the walls, their armored figures strolling leisurely back and forth. Andarta combed her hair with her fingers, considering them. She had always found Grey Wardens to be a mysterious lot, Anders excluded, though the mage probably made for a rather poor example of a warden.

"Well?" Merrill chirped, blinking her large, expressive eyes, "Are we going or not?"

"Don't think I'd get as warm a welcome here as I did with Nathaniel," Anders cringed, "At least not as long as we don't see the commander first. I didn't exactly leave the wardens on good terms, if you recall. In fact, if the Warden-Commander has me executed on the spot, I'd deserve it. She'd treat the rest of you well though, don't get me wrong. I did happen to kill a few brothers and sisters on my way out though, last I was with them."

"Don't worry," Said Andarta, "We won't let that happen. I'm good at talking and convincing others."

"Don't we know it."

Still, there was something ominous about approaching the keep. Andarta could not fathom why. She had faced worse things in her life, she had even spoken to the King of Ferelden without so much as batting an eyelash, but the Hero of Ferelden seemed to be far more intimidating somehow. A young mage, some said still in her teens, singlehandedly rounding up all of Ferelden to unite against the Blight and stopping it within one year. Ten years was enough for the Thaw to die down considerably, but it was said that she was still mighty on the battlefield. Andate Amell was the stuff of legend.

Who was also her cousin.

_She might not even be here. She might be away, visiting the King, or scouting, or recruiting…she might not even be here, and even if she is, you're the Champion of Kirkwall. You've fought a high dragon. You defended mages. That will surely earn you points, right?_

"Let's go," She finally said.

The gates loomed tall as they neared, and a little pocket window slid open when she knocked.

"Who's the Grey Warden among you?" The guard asked after she requested entrance to the keep. He obviously sensed a fellow taint.

Anders cringed. "Hi, you don't know me, I don't think. It's me. Yes, I'm a Grey Warden." _Was,_ he once insisted, but since the guard did not recognize him, clarifying that point would only complicate things.

"I am Andarta Hawke. I come from Kirkwall in the Free Marches, and would like to request audience with your Warden-Commander."

"Ah, very well," The window slid closed, and just like that the gates started to open.

"That was easier than we hoped," Isabela said dryly. "Looks like you didn't make such a memorable impression."

"Laugh it up, pirate," Anders returned in the same tone.

Inside the keep were many, many wardens, far more so than Andarta thought was required after ten, elven years of the Thaw. There were children in the compound too, obviously not wardens themselves. They glanced up at the newcomers curiously, but did not seem afraid. Some of the other wardens also looked, but did not pay them much attention otherwise.

"The Arlessa is in her office," Said the guard that spoke through the window, "If you can come this way, ser."

Varric cocked an eyebrow at this as the guard turned away.

"Ferelden accent," Anders explained as they followed, "Free Marches is 'serrah', Ferelden is 'ser'."

"I missed Ferelden," Andarta said thoughtfully, unsure how to articulate the warm feeling that bloomed inside her heart at the once familiar term of address.

The term was not what Varric was incredulous about, however.

"There's an Arlessa of Vigil's Keep? I thought wardens were supposed to stay out of politics."

"Amaranthine. She's the King's best friend. The King himself is a Grey Warden. Kind of too late to stay out of politics, and besides, she was given the Arling to help rebuild the wardens of Ferelden from like, one person to this many. She needed all the help she could get."

"She's doing quite well for herself," Andarta glanced around at the multiple people.

"Aye," The guard was listening, "A fine leader, is Warden-Commander Amell. Neither the keep nor Amaranthine would be standing without her. You know the Warden-Commander? You talk like you know her."

"Same Circle," Said Anders, lifting his staff, "Though I wasn't really friends with her so much as just acquaintances back then, but she oversaw my Joining and was the one who conscripted me."

"Ha! Must be before my time. Good to know."

As they came upon what looked like the main hall, a woman in her late twenties jogged through the front doors, wearing only a tunic and breeches and boots. Her hair was tied back into a simple ponytail and she wore a headband to keep sweat and hair out of her face. She was rather tall, and her face still held the freshness of youth, despite what must have been a harsh lifestyle. There was a little of Leandra Amell in this woman. As a tactician herself, Andarta could see that one reason Andate Amell had been so successful at gathering armies for the Fifth Blight was because she had an unearthly beauty. It must have helped her charisma, and she could see that ten years ago, the innocence associated with young women in their teens must have made her all the more radiant.

"Hi there Kesseck," She started jogging in place, before her eyes landed on Anders and she abruptly stopped. "You."

"Hehe," Anders sounded about as nervous as Andarta had ever heard him, "Hi, Commander."

Amell folded her arms and glared, though she did not look like she wanted to attack or call her wardens on them, "You have a lot of nerve, showing up here."

"Hehe…sorry, look, I wouldn't have done it if they hadn't—"

"Nine years!" Amell interrupted, her voice going high and shrill, "You disappear for _nine _years and I don't get any posts from you! If Nathaniel hadn't gone to the Deep Roads and encountered you there, I'd have thought you died! You ass!" Her eyes flickered over to Andarta. "Sorry, that wasn't proper language. But you _ass!_"

Andarta decided she liked the Warden-Commander.

Anders seemed even more nervous by this turn of events than he would have been if Amell had thought he was a dangerous maleficar. "I was trying to keep a low profile! I was sort of a wanted man, you know? Besides there's also the fact that if the First Warden ever caught wind of you associating with me, you'd be in over your head too!"

"Right, because you're so thoughtful like that. That was totally why you chose to cut off all contact. Do I look like I was born yesterday? We both know you're a selfish prick."

Anders' shoulders slumped at this. "Alright, you're right, I wasn't really thinking of you. I'm a selfish prick."

The Warden-Commander sniffed at this, before turning her attention to Andarta. Despite the relative flippancy of the situation, her eyes were deep and penetrating as she scrutinized the Champion of Kirkwall. Andarta felt like her very soul was being scanned, and wondered what force of personality this woman possessed to give her such power in a mere glance.

"You must be Hawke," Said the mage, inclining her head, "Nathaniel has told me about you, and of what happened in Kirkwall. As a mage, I thank you for your support and understanding. Compassion for those in the Circles is hard to come by in those who are not mages; Ferelden required a sympathetic King and a mage slayer of the Archdemon to change any opinions at all."

"My father was a mage," Said Andarta, "As is my sister," She inched her head slightly at Bethany, who was regarding the Warden-Commander with awe, "It would be hypocritical of me to think mages are monsters when I can see for myself that they aren't."

"Nonetheless," Amell smiled, "You are still better than many. All of you, welcome to Ferelden, and Vigil's Keep. Now, what can I do for you? Considering the events in Kirkwall, I assume you look for a place to stay?"

"That is…one request," Andarta admitted. She took a look at the commander, who seemed to have dressed to go for a run, and wondered if it was entirely appropriate to make more demands so informally. "I confess the discussion I have in mind is not urgent."

"It's not like I have urgent business myself," Andate grinned, and there was a spark of challenge in her eyes as she led the way into the hall. She reached into her breeches to smooth the hem of her tucked tunic, as if to emphasize that her current attire did not bother her, and if Andarta knew her priorities, she should not be bothered either. "Kesseck, thank you for escorting our guests."

"No problem, commander."

There were other people in the hall, so it was obvious that Amell did not intend to speak with them there. Varric walked up to Anders as they followed her at a slight distance.

"Didn't know she was a looker."

"Yeah, we get that a lot."

"I'm surprised you didn't have a go at her."

"Hehe, er…she's kind of too young, especially back then."

"Pfft. Since when did you care about that?"

"…Valid point, but still, she was kind of too young, back then. Ow!" Anders swallowed the cry after Andarta elbowed him.

They cut to the back, where they passed the training grounds. Aveline and her husband Donnic murmured to each other with approval. Andarta had to admit she was rather impressed as well. The spars between mages and everyone else were especially fantastic to watch, because spells, as Bethany could say, were hard to do halfway, and sparring could be lethal without proper supervision.

"It is so strange!" Bethany whispered to her, "It's like being in the Circle, except there are others around! I daresay I would have liked to be a Grey Warden."

The offices were in a rather small but sturdy building, which was appropriate given the sensitive documents and items Grey Wardens probably had to store. The air was cool yet dry inside, and the rooms of offices had large windows to allow sunlight to beam through. There were more wardens here, elves, dwarves, humans, most of whom paid little attention as their commander passed through.

"Here we are," Amell invited them to go into her office first, "I get to have a bigger office, though all of you will be a tight fit; I use to joke with Alistair—His Majesty, that my office could fit in his bathroom tub. Nothing like royalty and the riches that go along with it to put one in one's place." Once everyone was inside, she shut the door and circled around the group to sit at her desk. "My apologies, I do not have enough chairs to seat all of you."

"That's fine," Said Andarta, taking a seat, as Anders took another. "I'm sure you know, Warden-Commander, the details of what has happened in Kirkwall?"

"My second-in-command, Warden Howe, has briefed me with his account," Amell nodded. "I am told the Circle there has disbanded and the Knight-Commander there is dead."

"You know, then, that the uprising has spread throughout the Free Marches, and that there is now the threat of war with the Chantry?"

"Not just the Free Marches, I'm afraid. Ferelden remains the only kingdom that is rather unaffected by the situation, due to King Alistair's fortuitously liberal laws that allowed more freedom to mages. Even in Orlais, the Empress is dealing with riots."

"It was never my wish to provoke the Chantry," Andarta folded her hands, "The injustices committed against the mages, however, were intolerable, and I was obligated, as a person who tries to abide by good morals, to step in their defense, given my position as Champion of Kirkwall. This has led to far greater consequences, however—consequences that affect us all."

"And you want my help to prevent a war," Said Amell. Her tones were neutral, so Andarta could not interpret them. "The way I heard it, this has been a long time in coming, but Anders was the immediate cause." She turned her penetrating gaze to the other mage, who squirmed in his seat. "You seem determined to create trouble for everyone."

Despite his unease, Anders replied confidently enough, "Some troubles have to be created to solve the bigger problem."

"Yes," Amell inclined her head, and looked back at Andarta."You realize that I am a Grey Warden and an Arlessa of Ferelden? I have little power to initiate or stop anything continental, short of going to my superiors—either Weisshaupt or Denerim. I'm curious why you sought me out as opposed to the King."

"You are a mage," Andarta replied readily, "You are both mage and the Hero of Ferelden. Thedas owes you for sparing it the worst of the Blight. You are living proof that the Chantry is wrong about mages, and that they should not be given as much power as they have."

The Warden-Commander looked at her steadily, her eyes piercing and profound. "Ten years is a long time, Ser Hawke. Long enough for people to forget what it was like during the Blight, and certainly long enough for people to question one's continued use. I myself faced a legend, the Hero of River Dane. With your logic, I should not have questioned anything he did, but times change and he was in the wrong. People will think the same with me."

"Loghain Mac Tir died doing what he believed was right. That he was in the wrong does not change that; his sin was not doing too much, but doing too little, and for the wrong goals. You do not seem the kind of person willing to let others suffer while you remain comfortable. This is for a good cause; how can preventing a war possibly be wrong?"

"How can it, indeed?" She was every inch a leader, Andarta thought. Queen-like, elegant, despite wearing only a tunic and breeches. Her words were clear and concise, every sentence deliberate as if written. She had a kind face, however, and her voice was gentle and melodious. Hints of a patient character, one who was self-assured, but not proud, slow to anger and quick to smile. She spoke in a manner that made everyone feel respected and important, but did not take away from her own status as a commander. As an enemy, Amell would have been formidable. Andarta found herself wishing Meredith had met her. The Knight-Commander would never stand a chance. "By itself, peace is always best, yes? But what do you suppose is required when both factions refuse to compromise? What lengths would you go to in order to prevent a war? Did not the problems that led to war come during peace in the first place?" She turned to Anders, "Did this war not loom before us as a result of the atrocities committed by the Chantry against the mages and all whom they believe to stand in their way? The impending chaos has been long time coming. The series of events that will cause it has long since happened. Much like with the Tevinter, this is a war between those who are oppressed and those who wish to keep oppressing. For obvious reasons, neither wish to lose. We Grey Wardens have a priority: defeat darkspawn. For this purpose we had to agree to complete neutrality in order to properly recruit from all of Thedas, so that in the event of a Blight, there is a sufficient number of us who can stand at the front lines. As Warden-Commander, I represent my order and its neutrality. If I help you, I would have to choose a side in this conflict, and that would place our authority, the authority we need to unite Thedas against the darkspawn, at risk. In addition, those under my command hail from a multitude of origins. If they see me picking a side, they will feel incumbent to select sides as well. You speak of preventing a war, Ser Hawke, but a full-blown war is no worse than a war with an illusion of peace."

Anders shot to his feet. "This is your war too," He declared vehemently, "This is _our _war. Don't think the Chantry will just stop with apostates. They'll attack the Grey Wardens, and the Grey Warden mages. They'll attack you, because as you said, ten years is enough time for people to forget why they keep you around!"

"Sit down!" Amell thundered, and the force of her authority was such that the mage obeyed instantly. Silence descended, and it seemed to Andarta that everyone behind her froze at the order.

"Keep yourself together," She ordered Anders in a calmer voice, "We are all civilized here. Yelling will get you nowhere." She tilted her head. "The Anders I know wouldn't give a nug's ass about other mages. You've changed."

Varric choked in a laugh. "Can clearly see you hang out with dwarves, Warden-Commander."

She smiled warmly at him. "Dwarves, elves, humans, they are all my brothers and sisters now." The smile disappeared. "I am aware of the danger to the Grey Wardens, and this certainly can be exploited, but as with all weapons, I can only draw it with good reason, lest I lose my credibility and any power I have to help you."

"What about your arling?" Andarta asked, "You are Arlessa, correct? Surely you can act as an Arlessa?"

"That presents its own difficulties. I have two duties as Arlessa: swear fealty to my King, and protect and serve my subjects. I cannot place King Alistair in a dangerous position for my sake—it would be bad form, both as a vassal and as a friend. I cannot put my people in danger due to my own biases either. Because this is Ferelden, the Chantry's hold over mages is weaker than in other parts of Thedas, save perhaps Tevinter. Therefore, while I can act if the Chantry chooses to attack either my king or the people of my arling, I cannot do so unless the threat is more substantial than it is."

Andarta exchanged a look with Bethany.

"I hesitate to refuse," Said Amell, "So instead I will say, not now. Not until the proper opening is shown. That, I think, is something you can work towards." She turned to Anders, "Especially you, given your love of creating trouble."

"Sometimes you have to create trouble to solve the bigger problem."

"Yes," She agreed again, "That is very much so." She stood. "You may stay as my guests; no one will question my hosting cousins and their friends," She smiled a rather toothy smile at Andarta's surprised look—she did not realize the commander was aware of their relationship, "The name 'Amell' is quite familiar to me, and a Hawke claiming her mother's Amell estate is not a tough secret to unearth. I will call for the others to prepare the guest rooms. We wardens live rather sparsely, so I apologize in advance for the scant furnishings. You will have a lot of food though, haha."

"No problem," Andarta inclined her head in thanks as she stood as well, "We've all camped before. A room and bed itself is a luxury."

They filtered out of the office, and Amell, ponytail swinging as she walked, led them from the office building to the dormitories. She called out orders cheerfully, and was answered with enthusiastic obedience. Bethany took her place beside her sister as they walked, while Fenris took the other side, striding far too casually to really feel at ease.

"What do we do now?" Fenris asked lowly. "This seems like a waste of time. This mage isn't willing to dirty her hands unless she has to."

"It's not her fault," Said Andarta, "There's a difference between an outright coward and someone who plans risks carefully. She doesn't want to get other people hurt through her own opinions, and that is a decision I can respect." She glanced pointedly at Anders.

"Fair enough," The elf acquiesced.

"Besides, she practically invited us to create 'openings' for her. We have a place to stay and recuperate from running. That gives us a chance to plan ourselves, figure out what to do next."

"She's not what I expected," Bethany whispered, "I mean, she kind of is, and kind of isn't. She kind of unnerves me, like those people who know more than they should. I wonder if she knew all along that we were related? Why did she never contact us?"

"We never contacted her," Andarta pointed out. "Maybe she's as discomfited by this as we are."

Once inside the residence halls, Amell stood with the group as the other wardens retrieved sheets and pillows.

"So, sadly enough, we didn't get introduced while in my office. You must be Bethany Hawke."

"Yes, Commander."

"Call me Andate," The commander laughed, "I'm only a commander to new recruits and strangers. No one cares who you are, Anders. You are?"

"Varric Tethras, at your service, my lady." The dwarf completed his introduction with a bow as Anders sputtered beside him.

Amell giggled, which made her seem less of a commander and more of a young woman. "Charmed, Ser Tethras."

Andarta, taking her cue, gestured to Fenris. "This is Fenris, he comes from Tevinter."

To her credit, Amell did not gaze long on his lyrium markings. "A pleasure."

Isabela introduced herself. "You know me, of course. What happened to Arainai?"

"I'd like to know the same thing. Lousy elf likes to be mysterious. Helps him get the ladies, I assume. Last I heard, he is up to his usual mischief; you can interpret that how you like."

"Ah, Zevran," Isabela cocked a hip as she braced a hand on it, "It's a shame the three of us never were able to…get to know each other."

"I'm sure it is," Amell said airily, obviously disinclined to know for sure.

Aveline and Donnic were brusque about their introductions, though Andarta took the liberty of elaborating that they were both formerly Kirkwall's guardsmen, Aveline being the captain. A strange moment occurred when Merrill was introduced, however; as soon as the elf greeted the commander, Amell abruptly asked, "Are you a blood mage?"

"Hm!" Anders blinked at this, while Andarta tried to rationalize how the commander figured it out. As far as she knew, blood mages were not easy to tell apart, save for the scars due to their blood rituals, but Amell could not have seen any of Merrill's.

"You keep interesting company, cousin," She said to Andarta, "Much like I did. Intriguing. And you are Dalish, correct?"

"Yes, commander," Merrill said shyly.

"There is a lot one can learn from the Dalish," Amell nodded amiably. "Welcome, all of you. I am glad to have you with us. Except you, Anders."

"What?" Anders sighed, "And here I was thinking you missed me."

She responded with a high kick, one that missed his ear by centimeters. It was an expert kick, one befitting a skilled rogue and very surprising in a mage, showing off her flexibility and control. Anders was so startled, he did not even duck. Her foot stayed there, frozen in position, though it appeared to take no effort at all.

"I think you have a lot of nerve, showing up here after what you did to your brothers." All humor was gone from her face now. "Wynne had a spirit ally too, but it's different with you, isn't it? I could throw you in the dungeons and hand you over to the templars and it might even be the right thing to do." She finally lowered her foot. "You're lucky you're my friend, as was Justice, at least once upon a time. Keep your head down, Anders."

Anders actually lowered his head. "Yes, Commander."

"Hm," Amell sniffed, and whacked him on the back of the head with her right hand. Anders flinched, but did not complain. "Granted, they were annoying brothers." A smile lurked at her lips again.

The other wardens came to her to announce that the rooms were ready. The commander clasped Andarta's arm once, then Bethany's, half saluted to the rest, kicked Anders in the shin, and then jogged out for her run.

"What an interesting character," Varric mused out loud as her figure departed. His mind was noticeably turning with possible stories that could be derived from this.

"Sers," Said a warden, "If you can come this way, please."


	2. Chapter 2

Andate, Andarta

2.

"Nathaniel," Andate thumped him on the shoulder as she moved past to take a seat in front of the food. She had changed out of her jogging clothes into white robes embroidered with silver—this had been a gift from Wynne, and Andate had taken to wearing it for formal occasions, like hosting guests, ever since the Senior Enchanter died many years ago. She and Wynne did not see eye-to-eye on all things; Andate found the elderly mage to be too self-assured and inflexible in her principles, but Wynne was a good woman, carved from the particular experiences that shaped her beliefs into what they were, and she knew that Wynne hurt as she did when she suffered from her mistakes. No one was infallible, after all, and Wynne's intentions had been honest and good, as annoying as it had been. When the old woman died, the two had been close, with Andate seeking her often during the early days of her leadership in Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine.

"Andate," Nathaniel murmured, looking glum. He was not in armor, as wardens rarely were when not in training or on the field, but he was wearing rather formal clothes as well.

"Guess who's here," She grinned even though Nathaniel obviously knew already, refusing to be pulled down by his attitude.

"Skirts?"

Andate spat her water out to the side so she would not choke instead. "Didn't know you picked up nicknames from Oghren."

"They say the Champion of Kirkwall is here," Nathaniel ignored her comment, "And Anders is with her, so I assumed that was whom you were talking about."

"She brought along a whole team. Reminds me of back when I was a junior Warden. Me, Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, Wynne, Zevran, Oghren. Dog too. Poor fellow. He was a dear." Dog died a year ago of old age. She had been with him when he died, and many of the wardens had grieved along with her, including Nathaniel, even if he would never confess to it.

"Hm!"

The pair fell silent, as Andate ate. After a while, Nathaniel finally could not stand it.

"What did the First Warden say?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Andate replied. The First Warden was actually quite irate at the turn of events, believing that Nathaniel had put the Order in a difficult position due to his involvement in the battle at Kirkwall, but Andate had ten years to master the art of twisting the truth to suit her own purposes. In this case, she did not even have to work too hard. "I wrote back, stating that I have had multiple sources confirm that you were merely present when the chaos began and had no choice but to fight your way in order to leave for Ferelden. That's the thing with chaos; no one can keep track of anything."

"You shouldn't have to do this," Nathaniel slammed the table lightly, but his frustration was deep, "I don't want to force you to take the fall for me all the time."

"You can pay me back by doing my paperwork for the next month." Andate said with her mouth full. She elbowed him to show that she was teasing. "It's fine, Nathaniel. I know you came from a quirky family, to say the least." Calling the Howes "quirky" was ridiculously mild. "But believe it or not, this is what family does. Whenever one's in trouble, everyone else comes around to help."

"It's not like _you _had much of a family," Nathaniel scowled at her.

"The Circle sort of was," Andate waved her fork at him, "We're not related by blood, but we're related by conflict, and we were all on the same side. We looked out for each other when it counted."

"Hm!" He looked displeased, but that was how he was. As uncomfortable as he could be with accepting favors, he did regard the wardens as his family, especially Andate. Shortly after his Joining, he quickly became like a brother to her, one that Andate could actually depend on as a confidante and as a consultant, as opposed to Alistair who primarily left choices up to her and washed his hands clean of responsibility. Ferelden acceptance of mages had not come easily or nationally, and in the early years Andate still faced some skepticism and even downright opposition during her travels to purge the remaining darkspawn from the land. Nathaniel had always been there to support and defend her, and when he adopted a protective attitude towards her, he never relinquished it.

They were close, she and Nathaniel. Once, a few years after the death of the Architect and the Mother, Andate had fallen ill without even realizing it. There were darkspawn terrorizing the people south of the Brecilian Forest, and she had not been able to afford even entertaining the idea of being sick. Nathaniel had recognized the signs and verbally beat her into submission. He handled affairs while she was sent back to Amaranthine, where she proceeded to collapse into bed and was unable to rise under her own power for over a month. Andate knew it took a certain level of affection to realize another person was unwell, even when said person was unaware herself. Had their positions been reversed, Nathaniel would gladly take the fall for anything Andate did.

The other wardens filed in for supper, Sigrun slapping Nathaniel on the forearm as she passed. Oghren followed, belching as he went. The two dwarves went to another table; normally they ate with Nathaniel and Andate, as the four most senior wardens, but today Andate wanted to eat with Nathaniel and the guests. It gave Sigrun and Oghren a chance to chat with the other wardens as well.

"I hope they're coming," Said Andate, "I hope someone knew to call for them. Mycroft? Can you go check on our guests at the residence halls? I don't know if they know about suppertime."

"Yes ser!"

"Wouldn't want them to think I'm starving them," Andate ate another mouthful. "This business with the Chantry—it's going to blow over to the wardens sooner or later. Chantry, and the Qunari. Supposedly the Qunari were driven out of Kirkwall, again by Hawke, but there's no telling if they'd use the ensuing scuffle to try to 'teach' Thedas again. Then there is the fact that if a Blight comes along while people are still fighting each other, speaking from personal experience, the world would be overrun."

"What do you intend to do?" Nathaniel asked perceptively. "You will get involved, wouldn't you?"

"Eventually," Said Andate, "Though I can't see this resolving without bloodshed. Blood has been shed already, and there are always vengeful types. You and I both know how the Chantry is. For an organization, it is rather young and still impulsive in its practices. Once Kirkwall blew over, the rest of the chantries in the Free Marches also tightened the noose, which caused their mages to riot, and then they took that as a lesson and tightened the nooses in Antiva, Anderfels, Nevarra, Orlais—Alistair is keeping the Chantry at bay in Ferelden, but I'm not confident that the templars would not use some underhanded methods to attack the Circle here. When a fight becomes desperate, one stops caring who or what the target is, and everything is a target."

"How do you intend to prevent war, then?"

"I'm not sure I can," Andate looked aside, "And to be honest, Nathaniel, though I loathe to admit it to anyone else, I'm not sure I should. War is a product of peace. It is a way of resolving matters that could not be resolved otherwise. You know how sometimes you have to punch a man in the face in order for him to see sense; nothing less would do. War is simply that, on a grander scale. Sometimes you have to kill a lot of people in order to make the rest see sense. It's not a great solution, but it is sometimes the best that can be chosen. The issue at hand is that no one is seeing sense, and everyone is itching for blood and slaughter, even if they're not admitting it. The best I can do is direct that energy elsewhere, give someone a new target, but I'm not foolish enough to evoke a Blight just to prevent a continental war—I wouldn't even know how to try. What I do intend to do, however, is to ensure that the war is as short as possible." She tilted her head. "It's what I do best, no?"

"Hm!" Nathaniel did not look impressed. "What foolishness are you talking about? I don't understand this at all."

"Think about it," Andate leaned forward on the table, "The Chantry controls the mages through the templars, and the mages don't like the system. The problem is, the Chantry is the only solution we have. If you get rid of the Chantry system, you have to replace it with something. No one is thinking of that. The reason this situation is blowing up is because even though all the mages are crying about oppression, they're not presenting an alternative that would still satisfy the main objective of the templars: to protect people from mages and mages from people. Every time you have a riot, it is because people are demanding things the opposite party cannot provide. Remove the templars, and replace them with what? Nothing? You can't expect people to be accepting of that. Abominations are a real danger, blood mages and maleficar are dangerous, more so than the ordinary criminal. If you don't like the current system, what do you suggest in its place? No one knows. This isn't just our fault, of course. The Chantry keeps such a tight hold on everyone that no one could properly plan. If there was a way to gather all the mages and templars together, and _talk_, a suitable alternative could be found, ideally. Unfortunately, neither side wants to talk to the other. Mages don't trust templars, Templars don't trust mages. This is actually where the Grey Wardens can come in. We're a neutral party, we have mages and templars in our ranks, all of whom consider each other brothers and sisters. We not only can articulate each side's priorities and obstacles, we are willing to understand both. As for what specific system…that depends on certain things."

Nathaniel thought this over. "Like what?"

"What would work, and what wouldn't work." At Nathaniel's flat stare, she added, "This is different from what everyone would agree to, and what people would fight about."

"Fair enough." Nathaniel gave her a warning look. "Don't do anything without telling me first."

"I resent that," Andate said somewhat truthfully, "Who's the commander here?"

"You are, and you tend to put yourself in danger far too often to my taste. You're a mage, and as hotblooded as everyone is, you could walk into a bloodbath. These aren't darkspawn. These are half-crazed mortals."

Andate laughed. "They're about as bad as darkspawn, if not worse."

"Exactly. With the madness going on, you are especially in danger, as are the rest of the mage wardens."

"That's nothing new."

"It is," Nathaniel insisted.

Andate let out a breath. "I do know how to take care of myself, you know."

"Really?"

She swiped her fork at him. "Insubordinate!"

Hawke and company walked in then, and Andate stood to wave them over. The champion was tall, like herself, which made Andate wonder if all Amells were like that. She was a perceptive woman, the commander could tell, with a pleasant, honest face that belied the cunning within. Her skin was a bit darker than Andate's own, but still considered fair, and she was lean and lithe, graceful and nimble as a cat. Overall, a good, intelligent woman, though troubled by recent incidents. Andate rather liked her.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit of a lousy host," She apologized when the company joined them at the table, "I forget to let the others notify you about mealtimes. There is always food, though we tend to keep regular hours. I should have had my brothers feed you when I was out jogging, as you must all be tired and hungry from your travels. You've met Warden Howe already, he returned from the Free Marches shortly before you arrived."

Nathaniel also stood, nodding his head in greeting and gesturing for them to sit. "Please, help yourself."

"Thank you," Hawke sat to Andate's right, and her companions took their respective seats. "My, there is quite a lot of food here."

"Good ale," Isabela said to the dwarf, who grunted in agreement. "Really good ale. I think I like Grey Wardens."

Across the room, Oghren belched loudly, as if in agreement.

"We wardens are a ravenous lot," Andate explained the piles of food before she went back to her meal, "Comes with the job, one can say. Your rooms are acceptable, I assume?"

"Very," Said Hawke. "On behalf of myself and my friends, I thank you, Warden-Commander."

Andate glowered a little at her. "Are you going to be difficult about this, Ser Hawke? It's Andate." She grinned. "I'm only Warden-Commander when someone's in trouble with me."

"In that case, it's Andarta," Hawke replied almost coyly.

Andate laughed. "So it is."

The Hawke sisters had eased up at this time, Bethany Hawke sitting next to her sister and already starting to eat. Not everyone was comfortable, however. The Tevinter elf looked almost cranky, glaring a little at his food. Andate allowed herself to scrutinize his markings while he was not looking. They were beautiful, and yet looked painful. She would not be surprised if they were so. His countenance was set in a closed, almost stupid expression, though his eyes simmered continuously with something like rage. The commander had the distinct impression that he did not like her. She did not trouble herself with wondering why; it was likely not something personal, considering how long they had to know each other, which meant that he held all mages in contempt. He certainly did not seem too comfortable with Anders, and only somewhat neutral to Bethany Hawke.

_There is something familiar about the aura he exudes…_ It was difficult, even for someone of Andate's great power, to read a person who was not a mage. Merrill's constant dabbling in blood magic showed in her magical aura easily enough, as did Anders' hosting of Justice. Bethany Hawke remained rather clean, though her powers were not especially formidable. The Tevinter elf, however, did give off an impression that is purely physical, and it took a while for Andate to place it.

"Qunari," Andate raised her eyebrows, remembering Sten's similar poise, "Interesting. I never met an elf who practiced the Qun."

The Tevinter elf flinched at this, noticeably discomfited. "I do not practice the Qun."

"No?" Andate's eyebrows shot even higher. "It has touched you, nonetheless."

He blinked at her. "How did you do that?" He demanded, anxiety turning into anger, "What did you do?"

To her left, Nathaniel tensed, ready to leap into her defense. Andate regretted speaking her observations out loud. Sometimes her mouth still ran ahead of her, even though she had mostly curbed the habit.

"Nothing as sadistic as what you're no doubt imagining, my friend," She said soothingly, "I had a Qunari friend, once. Sten was his name, or rather, title. You carry yourself the way he does, and in my experience, no one else has the same posture or bearing as one who lives by the Qun."

He only seemed slightly placated, which Andate was sorry for. Making connections between the present and the past was second-nature to her, and she forgot that sometimes her seemingly uncanny observations frightened people.

The dwarf slapped his Tevinter friend on the upper arm. "Easy, elf. Heard lots of stories, but sure never heard of a mage who could read minds."

"Only demons," The elf continued to glare.

"That only works in the Fade," Andate replied.

"It's alright, Fenris," Hawke said to him, "Your lyrium markings protect you from spells, remember? She can't read you even if she wanted to."

_Is that what those do?_ The commander filed away the information for later. She wondered if the elf got them on purpose. Considering he hailed from Tevinter…it was likely a good precaution.

"Besides, who would want to read your mind?" The dwarf snorted, "Probably filled with all sorts of 'I hate mages' mantras. I can just imagine it. Don't mind him, commander. He hates mages in general, even Hawke's sister. You should see what happens when we put Anders and Fenris in a room together and lock them there. Oddest couple the Ancestors ever placed on this earth. In fact, let me tell you, one time we went out to search for someone, we came upon this cave and it was pitch dark and ominous. Hawke and I went ahead because we're good at stealth and neither of them are any good at sneaking, and since it's a cave and we all know how easy caves are to navigate, we wanted to scout ahead and map out the area, get rid of any lackeys along the way so that these two bumbling idiots can bang their way through in the dark—Skirts here with his skirts and elf here with his clunky armor—" Nathaniel snorted at the nickname, "—And these two stayed behind to make sure we didn't get sandwiched by anyone coming in after us." He adopted the air of a minstrel about to launch into a tale, "That was something too, crazy blood mages and summoning shades—luckily they tripped over their skirts as much as Anders did—"

"Hey!"

"But there were lots of demons to fight along the way, firey rage demons that look like heartburn, desire demons that always stop to strike some seductive pose when they really should focus on avoiding arrows and bolts," Andate smiled at this, "Really, I assume you know what they are like, but those desire demons aren't a smart lot. After we cleared a way we were doubling back, and Hawke and I were both saying that, at least I-hate-mages and I-hate-templars were not with us, because then there would be this whole bickering about how 'mages aren't all evil' and 'all mages seek power' that would completely ruin our cover; these two love to debate at the least convenient times—We get back, and they're _all over_ each other like an old married couple. We should do that again to see if it happens every time."

Both Anders and the Tevinter elf glared at the dwarf for this.

"By 'all over each other', Varric actually means we were standing as far apart as we could without actually abandoning Andarta and _not _talking. Or even looking at one another," Anders growled.

Andate was hard-pressed to hold in her laughter, especially at the possible implications of the dwarf's comment. "Opposites attract," She murmured to Hawke, who had to smother her own mirth, "You are quite a storyteller, Ser Tethras." He was not really like Leliana, who was sweet and poignant about her stories, but there was a certain wit that he shared with the bard, the ability to make any sentence he said sound interesting. "I would like to hear the stories of your adventures. I think it would be fascinating."

She somehow unnerved them again, though this time Andate was not sure how. Varric Tethras looked as startled as the elf did, though his surprise did not give in to anger. _Ah, so he is a storyteller, then._ This time, Andate had not meant for her comment to hit the mark so completely. Granted, this time her remark was not as pointed as the one to the Tevinter elf, but they were spooked enough that she did not need to.

It was too late to undo the damage, but she felt obligated to unveil some of her own stories so that at least they would be on even ground. "You remind me of my friend, Leliana, who was an Orlesian bard. During the Blight, whenever we made camp, right after dinner she would play her lute and sing a song, or tell a story, the tale of Andraste, the Witch of the Wilds, the elves of the Dales. More inclined towards the poetic and beautiful, was Leliana, not as much into the rude or comedic. She joined the Chantry to escape the political intrigues of Orlais, before joining my fellowship against the darkspawn." She glanced at Nathaniel. "Remember Leliana? She's visited us here at the keep. Challenged you to some archery matches." She bumped her shoulder with his.

"She was good with the bow," Nathaniel conceded.

"She's responsible for my interest in fine shoes."

"Oh Maker, _shoes,_" Anders groaned.

"I think it is perfectly fine to appreciate finely-made things," Andate laughed, "Even if such things are impractical in our line of work. At the very least, it made for easy decisions as to what to get for Leliana's birthday. A pot of Andraste's grace, shoes, trinkets of piety." She hesitated, and decided not to talk about the Urn of Sacred Ashes. "We've had some brothers who had an affinity for story-telling, but none quite like Leliana. She makes everything seem beautiful."

"It sounds like you had close companions during the Blight," Hawke murmured, "After so many years, and you still remember them."

"Well, we're not all like Anders," Andate glared at him again, "I try to keep in touch with my friends. All except Sten, actually."_ And Morrigan, for obvious reasons._ "The Qunari don't seem to have much need for long-distance friendships, not to mention it would doubtless give him much trouble to keep in contact with me when his people are constantly preparing to wage war. I suffer no illusions that Sten could change the mindset of his kin, and it is better for him, I think, that I do not persuade him to try, even on principle. The Qunari seem to have a harsh view of those who abandon any facet of the Qun, and I think it would place Sten in an unlivable position if I do manage to convince him of my views."

The Tevinter elf was staring hard at her, as if he thought he could stare some secret out of her. _Still spooked, then. _At least he no longer felt threatened, directly, anyway.

"The Qunari do not look upon free mages favorably," Said the elf. "I am surprised this Qunari associated with you during the Blight."

"It was not by his own choice," She replied, and briefly considered whether or not to reveal the incident with the sword. Sten would probably want her to be discrete, so she chose to skip it. "Let's just say, there were circumstances beyond his control. Sten was certainly not trusting of mages in general—" He had a distinct distaste for Morrigan, who had a similar disdain for him, though in both cases it was mild and relatively harmless, "—But I think it is safe to say that he became convinced that it is more beneficial for me, personally, to be the way I was, if only for the Blight, and as I respected Sten had a different culture and philosophies, he respected that I had mine, and that it was not his position to change them."

The conversation veered off to tales of later adventures. Other wardens came by to greet the Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke received them all graciously, as someone use to the attention, much to Andate's amusement. She carried herself with a quiet grace often associated with nobles, but did seem a little baffled by all the wardens—no doubt their order was as alien to her as it was to everyone else.

Nathaniel leaned to her. "What do you think she can do? She's already done enough, I think. She has lost the power to do more."

"No," Andate disagreed, "Hawke can do much, yet. Unlike me, she is an independent force, free to act according to her beliefs, without the chain of politics. A child of both Ferelden and the Free Marches, born from humble beginnings of anonymity, and so a subject of no particular power. There may be those stronger than her, and in better positions, but I doubt any would be as motivated."

After supper, the group rose almost as one, and Andate clasped her cousins warmly by the hand.

"I am really so glad to finally meet you two," She said sincerely, "I have always wondered about my family." They looked a bit chagrined at this, and she could imagine why, but she did not care about it so much. "At some point, you must tell me about yourselves—we should do something fun, go shoe shopping, or something." She giggled at the thought, and the Hawke sisters chuckled as well. "But you must be tired, and it's always tiring to socialize with strangers, even family. Tomorrow is a new day, and hopefully it brings good news!"

Hawke's grip on her arm was firm. "It has been an honor to meet you in person. You have been too kind to us. We will have time to get to know each other. Better late than never, yes?"

"Of course," Andate grinned.

As they departed for their quarters, Anders remained behind as Andate helped the other wardens clean up.

"So," Said the mage, "You're…really not angry with me?"

Nathaniel had remained next to her, clearly reluctant to leave her alone.

"You did what you felt you had to," Andate replied, "I'm just one person. Who am I to decide what's right and what's wrong, in the end?" She allowed some of her disappointment to show. "I did wish you had the decency to at least write to me, though. You weren't obligated to, and I certainly can't demand it, but I thought you trusted me more. I guess I got spoiled—everyone I knew before you still kept in touch with me, except Sten, since he literally couldn't." _And Morrigan, but even she had the decency to say goodbye in the end._ "It's not fair of me, I know. I don't blame you. I had unrealistic expectations."

"You know," Anders scowled, "When you do that, it just makes me feel worse."

"Well, I wasn't exactly trying to make you feel better." Andate grinned. "I'm not bloody Andraste, all perfect and pure." She reached out and hugged him, now that everyone else was out of the way. Nathaniel released a breath at this, but both of them ignored it. Anders hugged her back, his embrace tight and heartfelt. "I'm glad you're alright. I was afraid you were dead. There was no word of you."

"I'm sorry." He hugged her a little more before letting her go. "For what it's worth, Andy, I missed you."

"You better have," She swatted at him. "Go get some rest. You're beat." She could tell from the exhaustion in his aura.

"Will you really help?" He asked. "I mean, how good of a reason do you need, exactly?"

She glared. "I am _hoping _you and Hawke manage to procure a reason for me to get involved. Get lost, Anders. I'll see you in the morning."

He grinned cheekily, pointing at Nathaniel. "One last thing. You need to work harder on him. He's still as dry and boring as ever."

It was on the tip of her tongue to exclaim that at least Nathaniel did not go about blowing up chantries, but that would hurt Anders more than amuse him. "Out!" She commanded instead, "I'll have none of this sauciness. Go to bed!"

Laughing, the mage left.

"At least I don't blow up chantries," Nathaniel muttered when he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Andate, Andarta

3.

"I don't like her," Fenris insisted. He had been frightened, even if he would never admit it. A normal, healthy man would simply be startled and eventually intrigued, but the Warden-Commander had unwittingly plucked the exact strings necessary to bring the wounds of his trauma to life. The lyrium markings over his skin shimmered as he paced in the room, too distressed for sleep, too proud to admit it.

"She's a mage," Andarta said softly, "And she perceived things no normal woman should. However, she is not all knowing."

"Of course not."

"If she had been, she would have realized how uncomfortable her comments would have made you."

Fenris was silent.

"When she talked about Sten, she was telling the truth. You and I both heard her conclusions about her friend. The Qunari aren't too forthcoming about themselves, and yet she seems to have understood them as thoroughly as you. She seems like an insightful person, and I'm tempted to say that is expected of a leader, but it's not. That doesn't mean she's using unnatural means. Spells don't work on you, and she didn't even know that—she looked a bit surprised when that was mentioned."

"Even if these are normal skills one can brush off as attention to detail, she is still dangerous."

"I don't think she means any harm," Andarta said soothingly. "She wasn't happy to have made you uncomfortable."

"You are far too trusting of people."

"No I'm not. You know that. I'm not a fool. I treat different people differently. I don't use sarcasm around Merrill, I don't expect Isabela to be chaste, I don't expect Aveline to go against her principles, I don't expect Anders to like templars and I don't expect you to like mages. I know what bothers you, Fenris. She is a mage, she is perceptive and you feel she can see your weaknesses and fears. She is in a position of authority, and there is no one locally who can challenge her; she is Commander of the Grey and Arlessa, which is exactly the position you feel would corrupt her. She's also friends with Anders, which doesn't really help her case."

Fenris allowed one corner of his lips to curve upward. "No it doesn't."

"Fenris, at the risk of sounding condescending, not everything is about you. There is no reason for her to target you especially. Her focus is on me."

"That is what I'm afraid of." He scowled at her, "You are not at an advantage here, Andarta. _She _is at the advantage."

Attempting to convince him otherwise would achieve nothing, and Andarta was touched that Fenris was willing to admit being worried about her. "I'll be careful, Fenris. As much as she understands us when she shouldn't…I also understand her."

Talking with someone face-to-face had that advantage; she could learn things about Amell the commander never meant to reveal. The trick was to listen to not only what a person says, but what they did not say, and what they did when they chose not to say it. Whenever Amell glossed over an acquaintance's past, she became slightly reserved, as if consciously protecting them, which indicated that there were certain things her companions did that might embarrass them. She never prodded any of the company for their personal stories, especially after Fenris's reaction to her observation about the Qun, and yet offered many of her own, which showed an awareness that her company did not trust her yet. Though she wore a beautiful set of robes, that looked more like a dress than a uniform for mages, she never brought up magic, not even to tease Nathaniel or Anders, instead focusing on what she could do as a normal person: kick, poke, kiss, chase, yell, whine, without any hint of spells or hexes. She only had good things to say about anyone she mentioned, even ones she kept anonymous, and never told any story that could embarrass anyone in them. She was also quite self-deprecating, as it turned out, freely telling stories in which she had made mistakes and learned from them. These all painted a woman who was very considerate of others and their dignity and preferences, valued their friendship, was eager to alleviate the distress of others, and was conscious of her own faults and fallacies. It was no wonder that someone who was so aware of their own flaws, so willing to correct them for the sake of others, would be so perceptive of those around her.

"It must be lonely," Andarta murmured before she could curb her words. She knew what it was like to understand others, to have to tolerate everyone else's quirks and preferences and fears, accommodate their needs and desires, and receive little of that courtesy in return. It was not that her friends did not care about her; they just did not understand her, and it could be hard sometimes. "It's her lot in life, though, I guess."

Fenris was silent, regarding her from behind his pale bangs.

"You should get some rest," She told him, "We've traveled for a time."

He hesitated for a moment, before wordlessly opening the door and stepping out.

The next morning, the Warden-Commander came to breakfast clad in armor.

"Mages can wear armor! Just like children can," She laughed when Andarta asked, "There's no rule saying that we can't wear armor. Ah, I'm just teasing you. Arcane warrior. Learned it from a ruin. Not the wisest thing, but I can't complain about the results. At the time, I was young and desperate. Women get married when they're sixteen, but at seventeen years old, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I was grasping at any straws I could find."

Seventeen years old, and fighting against the Blight. Andate Amell was younger than Andarta.

Breakfast was much more casual than supper. Amell, sensitive to the feelings of her guests as she had been the previous day, stayed at their table only to confirm that all was well before moving away to leave them to eat in peace. Other wardens joined them, however. Warden Howe was one, and a female dwarf named Sigrun was another.

"How are you liking it here in Ferelden?" Sigrun asked.

"I came from Ferelden," Andarta said in amusement, "Bethany and I both did."

"Really? What made you move?"

"The Blight," Bethany said ironically.

"Ohhhh…" Sigrun glanced at Nathaniel. "Right. That thing."

Howe rolled his eyes.

"So you stayed away for a looooong time. Guess you didn't really like it here, huh?"

"It's not that. We just worked so hard to have a home there, got to know people, got an estate, it just didn't seem worth it to abandon all of that to come back to Ferelden where everything from our old life was destroyed by darkspawn." In hindsight, if they had returned to Lothering after the Blight was over, their mother probably would never have fallen prey to the maleficar, but there were so many things they could have done that in the end, there was no point in regret.

"I guess that's true. King Bhelen of Orzammar made lives for the casteless a lot better, and I can always go back to the Legion of the Dead, but I'm a Grey Warden now, and the Commander keeps me busy enough that I can't leave." Sigrun chuckled. "Utter slavedriver, is Andate."

Fenris tensed at this, but Sigrun did not share her commander's perception. Howe did, however.

"You keep threatening to run away to your death," He said disapprovingly. "You can't claim not to enjoy the tasks she assigns you. They give you a sense of purpose."

"That they do," Sigrun agreed easily, "Not as fulfilling as dying though."

"Of course not," Howe started to roll his eyes, but managed to check himself this time.

"Commander of the Grey!" Someone called out, and the cafeteria abruptly quieted. "Templars at the gates!"

Sudden silence followed this.

Amell lifted herself from her seat with a groan. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I can handle this," Howe rose immediately.

"I can handle a few templars, Nathaniel."

"When you have to. You don't have to."

She looked displeased, but Howe stared stubbornly back at her, and she appeared to give in.

"Uh-oh," Sigrun whispered as Howe left the table, "He doesn't like templars, _and _he hasn't finished breakfast. There will be some yelling."

"This I've _got _to see," Anders rose from the table to sneak out.

"Anders!" Andarta called out in alarm, and then exchanged an alarmed glance with her cousin. _Idiot! Why would he expose himself like that?_

Amell wordlessly waved her hand, and two wardens instantly got up to retrieve the reckless mage.

"He doesn't like templars?" Bethany asked, referring to Nathaniel as her sister watched anxiously.

"They're always harassing Andy," The she-dwarf replied as she ate a spoonful of porridge, relatively unconcerned, "Ooh! Hot! Ow ow ow…" She took a moment to collect herself. "Andy puts on a brave front, but it bothers her, templars. I wouldn't say she's afraid of them, it's just what they represent—soldiers of the Maker, everyone on the surface thinks they're _right._ Oh these days she's gotten better, but back when I first joined, that was, what, a decade ago? Ancestors! Time sure flies by fast when you're busy! But back then, she was just a girl, really. Ancestors! She was a young lass!"

The commander had walked over to them, a slight frown at her eyebrows even as her lips smiled.

"It's us, isn't it?" Andarta asked her.

"Probably," Replied her cousin. "Nathaniel knows what to do though."

At the front door, the two wardens were shoving Anders back by tugging at the back of his collar.

"Are you insane? You lot are supposed to keep a low profile!"

"Ow!" Anders stumbled as they let him go. "Andate! That's rough manhandling!"

"You deserve it," Andarta snapped, unimpressed. "Sit down, Anders."

Looking meek, he sat down as he was told.

"I didn't think Justice would allow you to endanger yourself like that," Merrill observed.

"I wasn't in danger!"

"You were making sure Nathaniel didn't rat you out," Amell said perceptively.

Anders gaped at her. "Can you _actually _read minds now, Andy?"

She looked offended. "Don't insult my intelligence, Anders. I've enough recruits to know what kind of mindset is required to keep a low profile for ten years."

Andarta looked merrily at her, immediate danger passed for now. She did not share Anders' fear that Amell would betray them. "You must have encountered a great many individuals to be able to recognize such things so easily."

"Oh definitely. They're all quirky too. Did I ever tell you about this one man who has a cat fetish? Was a mage, liked wearing oddly-designed robes, had a kitten named Ser Pounce-a-lot."

Varric choked into his ale. Another dwarf was busy drinking something foul, which was probably why Amell was not surprised by his odd breakfast diet.

"I did _not _have a cat fetish!" Anders cried, "You make me sound like some…some sick person!"

Sigrun was doubling over, nearly under the table.

A warden stepped through the doors. He was one of those who had gone with Howe.

"Andy," He came up to Amell, "There's a bit of a problem. They're refusing to leave without searching the premises."

"Tell Nathaniel to keep at it, but don't pull his sword. They're not stupid enough to try to storm in unless there's a whole army outside."

"There's a whole army outside."

Amell and Andarta exchanged a look.

"Well then," The Warden-Commander exclaimed in a matter-of-fact tone, "I guess they _would _be stupid enough to try to storm in. Wardens! To arms!"

The dining hall instantly swarmed into activity. Andarta watched, a bit crestfallen at this.

"I didn't realize there would be this much trouble so soon," She said to her cousin, and then regretted it because the comment seemed so inadequate.

"Trouble rarely follows a schedule," Said the commander. "I'm itching for a fight. If the templars attack, that gives me right to fight back, but we have one chance to do this and we have to do it right. If you would, please take your companions to the armory. There are Grey Warden uniforms there, get dressed, and I'll meet you there. If this turns violent, the Chantry would probably blame the incident on us anyway, but in that case I would want to leave some templars alive so they could go back and spread word of the truth as they saw it, in that there are no fugitives here; I want no ambiguity about our indignation. Word in low places have more of an effect that you think." She looked at Fenris. "You would probably be hard to disguise without magic." She said this apologetically.

Fenris gritted his teeth. "What are you suggesting?"

"That I use magic." Amell looked a little exasperated. "I don't know what your markings do—is that lyrium? But I can spell across them. With your permission, of course."

Fenris's face was starting to contort into a snarl. It was bad enough that he had to tolerate Merrill, Anders, and Bethany, but a stranger was too much. Andarta stepped in. "I think it's best if we just keep Fenris out of sight for now. There's a whole compound of wardens here, with a variety of skills; surely even an army of templars would not be able to defeat you. We can spare Fenris, I think."

"True." Amell nodded her head. "I will head out to face the templars. You all should get to the armory."

"Yes Commander," Anders said quickly.

Once the commander left, Aveline, who had been quiet for the most part since their arrival at Vigil's Keep, finally spoke up. "A whole army of templars? How did they get past Ferelden borders?"

"Probably without permission," Andarta looked at her sister. "Let's go to the armory."

The guest chambers had been scant, as Amell had warned, but the Grey Wardens spared no expenses on armor and weapons. Anders dutifully changed his feathered robes into something more generic, though he grumbled a little bit about it. There were also robes and armor for the Dalish, but they were similar enough to what Merrill was already wearing that she chose to keep as she was.

Despite how efficient the Grey Wardens were at following orders, when the group went to the front gates, everyone was scattered in a crowd as opposed to the strict formations Aveline would have kept her guards, and there was a low hum as everyone murmured to each other and muttered curses. Not everyone was here, but there was a substantial enough number that they could not see the front. Kesseck, the guard that had led them into the keep yesterday, was standing to the side. He raised his hand to acknowledge their arrival and moved to them as they approached. Over the din, they could hear Amell's clear voice resonating, but not enough to hear what she was saying.

"They're having it out. Knight-Commander and Warden-Commander. It looks ugly."

"Ugly is when people start using their shiny swords," Andarta said lowly, pushing her helmet more firmly onto her head. She wondered if it was Cullen? Cullen had fought on her side at Kirkwall, however. She doubted he would be eager to lead troops to storm a warden compound just to capture her and her companions.

"Templars are a sad lot," Isabela said idly, "Who would want to take vows?"

The din abruptly fell silent, so that Amell's words carried over to them. "For the final time, the Grey Wardens do not answer to the Chantry. We have no obligation to open our gates to an army of templars. Have your Grand Cleric speak to the First Warden if you take issue with this, but you will not step through these gates today. If you attempt to do so, we will respond as is appropriate when invaded by those we did not invite."

Standing on her tiptoes did not afford her a good view, but Andarta could see that the warden had not been exaggerating when he said there was an army of templars waiting outside. Apparently, after defeating the Qunari and the templars of Kirkwall with little more than scratches and bruises, Andarta had a reputation for being impossible to defeat, so they decided not to take chances with her group. _How fortunate that we headed straight to an army of our own, as Anders had suggested._ The Grey Wardens also looked eager for a fight. Things were getting ugly indeed.

"The Maker will not be thwarted by an Order composed of murderers and maleficar! If you don't allow us to pass, we will cut all of you down, as many as stands in our way!"

Amell's response was terrifyingly clear. "Draw your weapon, Knight-Commander!"

The first war-cries came from the templars as they charged. The Grey Wardens swooped out, Amell and Nathaniel in the lead. Andarta drew her bow and shot a templar through the slit in the helmet as he pushed blades against warden. The ground shook, and then stopped as the templars purged the area of magic.

"Hawke!" Anders grabbed Andarta by the elbow, "She's a mage and they're templars! We have to help her!"

But the gates were only so narrow, and there were wardens in the front. Andarta had lost sight of Amell; she had doubtless already crossed the gates outside the keep. Merrill disappeared into the ground, presumably to emerge outside. Branches crackled, and there was a series of explosions as the rogues threw bombs at the templars.

The wardens were fearless, pushing at the gates despite the clang of swords and shields, and they pressed out, clearing the way for Andarta and her company to see that there were at least several hundred templars.

"Maker!" Donnic exclaimed, "All for us? I don't know whether to be baffled or flattered!"

"Try both," His wife said acerbically, heaving her sword up as Andarta darted out, Bethany close at hand. Templars were strong, and their blows could be devastating, but they were also oafish and clumsy, which made dodging very easy. She danced out of the way of the blades, watching Bethany do the same, and aimed for the vulnerable parts of the armor; the joints, cracks, openings. A warden cut down a templar to her right even as she dodged, and she made another trip over his feet before severing his neck with her blade.

Bethany suddenly crumpled as several templars smote her at once. Andarta notched three arrows and felled the three closest to her sister, but there were others coming in for the kill.

"Bethany, get up!" She cried, but Bethany was still immobilized from the attack. "Bethany!"

A templar raised his sword in an arc and swung down over her sister in front of Andarta's horrified eyes. Something flew past and hit his hands, knocking the sword to the side. Amell, now weaponless, picked up a sword from a fallen templar and ran it through another right behind Andarta just as he was about to strike at her.

"Focus, cousins!" The commander cried out, leaving the sword in the templar's body. "Watch out!"

The templars next to the one about to kill Bethany were charging in her direction, as the first prepared to strike the mage down again. A bolt of lightning shot into him and split of to halt the other three. Amell ran past Andarta, hands still out-stretched, and slammed her glowing gauntlets into the faces of two of the templars. Her fists seemed to go right through their skull, leaving behind cauterized chunks of metal and flesh. Another templar cast smite on her, but she had picked up her staff. Bethany was stumbling to her feet as the commander swung it like a pole, seeming unfazed by the sudden loss of her mana.

_Maker,_ Andarta thought as she ducked another sword and stabbed, _How did she cast without her staff?_

She edged closer to her sister. "Bethany, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I need lyrium potion," Her sister was distressed.

They did not think to bring any, which was stupid, given whom they were facing.

"Get back inside the keep!" Amell called out. She wavered as she blocked a sword with the length of her staff, and Andarta realized that the smite still affected her. "Cousin! I need your help!"

"I'm here!" Andarta exclaimed unnecessarily, and stabbed at the templar as he was preoccupied with the commander. A wave of healing magic swept over them; Anders, tucked safely behind the gates, was using his considerable creation magic to keep all the wardens on their feet. She felt strength boost through her veins. Amell, however, had stumbled back and fallen to her knees.

"Commander!"

"Commander!"

"Cousin," Andarta risked kneeling down quickly as the wardens surrounded her, "Get back to the keep! We non-mages can defend the front. The rest of you should keep back!"

"I can't walk!" Amell seemed unable to even sit up. "Vertigo!"

Andarta blocked the edge of one sword that swung too close to her cousin, despite the defense of the wardens. The Order was made of formidable fighters, but there were simply too many templars, all equally well-trained, who had a special advantage against mages. Wardens would clearly win, but they would likely lose many of their mages in the process—and their Warden-Commander, if Andarta did not do something quickly.

"Lean on me!" She cried, "I'll get you back to the keep!"

Suddenly, a loud horn blared in the distance, and the fighting abruptly quieted as everyone looked. High banners loomed between the trees, bearing the royal crest.

"Alistair," Amell tried to shake off her disorientation. With the fighting paused for now, Andarta lowered her guard to help her cousin lean against her shoulder.

"Commander!" Warden Howe ran over to her, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just a smite, that's all."

Instead of looking relieved, Howe looked angry. "You fool! What are you racing into the midst of everything when these are _templars?_ Do you have a death wish like Sigrun?"

"I got pushed," Amell said with a smile. Andarta nearly burst out laughing at Howe's outraged expression.

The King arrived leading a formidable force at a gallop, and it was barely a few minutes after the horn blew that he appeared. His sword was drawn, his shield was at the ready, and he managed to stop his horse without pulling on the reins. He was too far away for Andarta to see his expression, but his voice carried over despite the long distance separated by the remaining templars, and it was filled with fury.

"What are you all doing here? How dare you trespass Ferelden borders?" He lowered his sword when none of the templars moved to attack. "Drop your weapons this instant!"

"This is good," Amell said softly, still struck by vertigo, "They're sandwiched. Unless they're all idiots they will surrender."

She was right. There was a clatter of weapons dropping following this.

"Help me up, please."

Andarta shifted and supported her as she stood. Amell made a downward motion with her hands, and gradually the other wardens lowered their own weapons, though unlike the templars, they did not drop them. Howe grabbed her by the opposite elbow.

"Next time they push, you push _back_," He hissed at her. "You imbecile!"

The Knight-Commander did not show. He was dead.

"Warden-Commander!" The King called out, sounding genuinely frightened, "Where is she?"

"I'm here!" Amell called out, looking a bit better. "I'm here, Your Majesty!"

"Teyrn Cousland, arrest all of them! Help the Grey Wardens round them up! Have the healers tend to the wounded!"

A man beside the King abruptly bowed his head and waved at his men. Amell glanced back. "Is Bethany alright?"

Andarta looked around, seeing her sister next to Anders, looking sickly like Amell, but alive and otherwise unharmed. The wardens, more subdued now that the fighting was over, mingled with the soldiers from Highever to gather up the templars. Andarta and Howe moved Amell into the keep and to the side, where they could watch everything without having to participate.

As everyone began cleaning up, the King rode into the keep and dismounted.

"Andate!" He exclaimed, taking in her appearance, "Are you alright? We came as fast as we could as soon as we heard they were headed this way!"

Amell moved forward to collapse in his arms in an attempt to hug him. "I'm fine, just a smite. A few smites at once. Maker knows this wouldn't have happened if I had at least gotten a chance to finish my bloody breakfast."

"You didn't eat yet?" The King looked at her. "Well, that explains a lot. I was about to say, you're not old enough to be losing your touch—ow!" He wrinkled his nose as red bloomed on his cheek where Amell had punched him. Andarta blinked, wondering if she could have gotten away with that had she done the same to the viscount, even lightly, as the commander had done. Her cousin had just punched the King of Ferelden. "Nope, definitely wasn't because you lost your touch. You dangerous mage."

"You templar!"

Andarta's eyebrows shot up.

"Hey there kid," A ginger dwarf waltzed up to the King. He looked inebriated, which made Andarta nervous as he heaved a giant ax, so large it looked like it was twice his size, over his shoulder. "Long time no see, pike-twirler!"

_Does no one respect the King of Ferelden?_

"Oghren," The King's nose wrinkled, "Good to see you too. Why don't you go help the others, and, uh, try not to kill anyone. Though if you must make sure they're the templars from Kirkwall."

"Aye, alright," Oghren belched, which was impressive because Andarta never felt like burping right after a battle. The dwarf did not seem to know what the King was talking about, but he did waddle off, axe still menacingly over his shoulder.

"Maker," Said the King, "How's he still alive?"

"Well," Amell said lightly, apparently choosing to ignore what just happened as if it were a normal occurrence for people to call the King "kid" and "pike-twirler" even though the King was in his thirties, "The templars have certainly brought this to the Grey Wardens now, and to Ferelden, so my hands are now untied, both as Commander of the Grey and as Arlessa!" She stepped away from the King and promptly fell over.

"You imbecile," Howe snapped.


	4. Chapter 4

Andate, Andarta

4.

The wardens were mostly bruised and battered, but no worse; even the mages simply needed some lyrium potions before they were as well as they had ever been. Many of them checked on Andate, who was getting a bit tired of constantly assuring that she was fine, but she knew everyone needed to do it, and so swallowed her complaints. The templars suffered casualties, as expected when one group is sufficiently larger in number, and the remaining ones were either taken to the dungeons of the keep or to the healing wings for the grumbling mages to check over them.

"It's all 'mages must all die' until someone needs healing," Anders scowled, "And then after the person gets healed it's right back, as if they don't have brains and no memory-span whatsoever."

The templars were not from Kirkwall, as it turned out, unsurprising since Hawke had made an enemy out of the entire Chantry. The Knight-Commander was actually from Starkhaven, and there were others who came from different parts of the Free Marches. Many of them grumbled in their own dialects as the gleeful wardens gathered them together and herded them away.

The Hawke sisters have both usurped Nathaniel's place at Andate's side, much to the man's annoyance. Alistair had taken her other side, along with Fergus Cousland, who had greeted her with an enthusiastic hug.

"Andate," Said the teyrn, "I am very glad we were on time. As soon as the incident in Kirkwall spread to other parts of Thedas, His Majesty and I were both worried that the templars might come for you. We actually came separately, surprisingly enough. You draw a lot of attention, it seems."

"I'm irresistible, what can I say?"

Fergus laughed. "That you are, milady."

The King was looking at Hawke. "You look good in that armor. Are you going to join the wardens?"

"I think I would like to fight one thing at a time, Your Majesty," Said the champion, "As the commander pointed out, Grey Wardens place darkspawn as a priority. I am much more concerned with the conflicts between people on the surface."

"Ah, fair enough."

Her other companions were scattered about the keep, with the dwarf, Aveline, Donnic, and Isabela helping everyone round up templars into the prisons, while Merrill and Fenris went to the healing wing in order to tend to the Dalish mage's superficial wounds. Merrill was very cute for a blood mage, Andate decided. She had a light, fresh, almost childish outlook on everything, and seemed to treat the demons and spirits in the Fade like pet mabaris rather than dangerous beings. "That was very exciting!" The elf had said in her distinct accent as she left for the healers, "I didn't know blowing musical instruments could stop fights like that!"

"Don't mind her," Hawke had told Andate, "She's sort of just like that. She's special, but a bit odd in the head."

"I find her refreshing," Andate had teased, "Can I keep her? I think she'd be a right match for Nathaniel."

"Are you kidding?" Hawke had laughed back, "No, on second thought…no, I confess I still can't see it."

"Well this incident has forced my hand," Alistair looked peeved, "This is a breach of national security. The Chantry has trespassed Ferelden lands with non-peaceful intentions, and there is only one response to this. I will call a landsmeet in two weeks to discuss the option of declaring war. Andate, I want you to come to Denerim with me and Fergus, since as Arlessa you would be expected to come anyway."

Andate exchanged a look with her cousins. _So much for preventing war._

"Declaring war might be too hasty," Hawke interjected, "Your Majesty," She added hurriedly, "With all due respect, people will believe you to be declaring war against the Maker. The Chantry is too connected to the Maker, too symbolic, too ingrained in the culture of the people of Thedas, and you would be labeled a heretic. In addition, not everyone would view their unauthorized presence to be a real offense against Ferelden; the templars were chasing me and my companions to a Grey Warden fortress. They trespassed Ferelden borders in large numbers, but there is no strict rule against that, and any offense is to the Grey Wardens alone."

"She's right," Andate agreed, impressed by her cousin's political acumen, "I will write to Weisshaupt, but I doubt you would get much support in the landsmeet. There are pious nobles who believe that the Chantry is the voice of the Maker. It would not do to alienate them. We currently have several hundred templars hostage, and many dead. That is leverage we can use. Since they are imprisoned here at the keep, I will take responsibility for keeping them captive, that way even though you were the one who gave orders to round them up, the Chantry cannot claim you to be responsible for this situation. Keep this matter between the Chantry and the Grey Wardens; now is not the time for Ferelden to strike at them."

Alistair seethed a little. Over the decade, he had grown into a fine King, self-assured and with a sharp mind for leading a nation. Though he was still impulsive sometimes, his wisdom showed in his unexpected ability to take counsel and choose the best advice.

"So I am just to ignore this?" He raised his eyebrows.

"It would unnerve them if Ferelden does nothing," Hawke pointed out, "They'd expect some kind of response, empty threats, more likely. Silence would throw them."

Andate looked at her cousin. "And perhaps, make them uneasy enough to make a mistake."

Alistair looked at the two of them. "Are you two by any chance related?"

Andate smiled. "She's my cousin, as is Bethany."

"Well!" He exclaimed, looking at Andate, "Small wonder, that. Looks like you're not as unique as we all thought you were."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do I have to punch you again?"

"No! No punching! I submit before you, dangerous mage!"

"You foul man," Andate laughed. "This is the King of Ferelden."

Hawke laughed as well. "Well, my first meeting with him did consist of the Knight-Commander Meredith giving him a severe tongue-lashing."

"No respect at all, that woman," Alistair looked at the Warden-Commander, "Though the joke's on her, in the end. Sort of."

"I do feel sorry for her, in a way," Hawke admitted, "She had to be stopped—there was nothing for it, but it was one thing to be evil, and another thing to be mad. She bought the wrong item and it messed with her mind."

"Oh?"

"It's a long story," Bethany supplied, when her sister did not elaborate.

"It seems our knowledge of what transpired in Kirkwall is incomplete," Alistair looked at Andate, before looking back at Hawke. "Can you tell us exactly what happened?"

"Well, I am just one side of the story, even if I had been a neutral party for the most part, but I will explain the best I can," Hawke conceded. She launched into the tale of the lyrium item they found in the Deep Roads, how it had poisoned the mind of Varric's brother and later the Knight-Commander.

"This is bad," Alistair said to Andate, "For the Chantry, anyway. This challenges their infallibility, and the infallibility of their members. Of course, all templars eventually go mad from their addiction to lyrium, which wasn't even necessary—another intrigue that they have covered up. It seems to me that templars have to be separated from the Chantry and placed under someone else's control. Not the mages, since that will just present a whole new series of problems, but perhaps the secular government."

Andate nodded, looking at her cousin, who seemed to agree with this as well. "The Chantry should not have a military force. Voice of the Maker or not, they are still composed of regular people who are as capable of being corrupted by power, and granting them military means would lead to a different kind of war, one that might be bloodier than those between secular states."

"Are you two really talking about reforming the Chantry?" Fergus broke in.

Andate glanced at her cousin again. "Yes?"

"I would not be able to do much," Said Alistair, "It would appear to others that I am trying to exert control over the Chantry, like Orlais. However, the Champion of Kirkwall is in a better position."

"I am no longer Champion, I think," Said Hawke, "I'm not sure if there is even much of a Kirkwall."

"That is disturbing because it's true. Well, Andy, I know you are claiming the reins in this on behalf of the Grey Wardens. Is there anything I can do?"

"Sit tight and await orders," Said Andate.

Alistair grinned. The two of them had especially enjoyed baffling everyone else with their convoluted relationship. As Grey Wardens, Alistair was actually her subordinate, because she was Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, and he had no ranking among the wardens. Therefore, on such matters he had to defer to her and obey her orders. However, outside of that, Andate was Alistair's vassal, because he was King of Ferelden and she was an arlessa of Ferelden's lands.

_Good times._

"You better get to writing that letter," He told her, placing a hand on her arm. "Have that messenger get to Weisshaupt, fast. I don't want to sit around and wait for the templars to attack you again. You're an incredible mage, Andy, but I'm going to agree with Nathaniel and say you're an imbecile for going into that. All your mages are idiots."

Bethany's shoulders shook with laughter.

"I got pushed!" Andate protested.

"Then push _back_."

Andate groaned. "How long are you going to stay here again? Nathaniel, stay with this ass and Teyrn Cousland. I'm going to write my letter."

Her office was quiet and still compared to the commotion in the main hall. Mail had arrived, ironically warning that templars have crossed Ferelden borders and may make for Vigil's Keep. The First Warden was actually good friends with Andate; he was not always very respectful, as he considered her a child, but he had trusted her enough to make her Warden-Commander, and one of the missives today was actually from him, warning her that the Chantry had begun attacking Grey Warden mages and granting her permission to do what she must to defend herself. _That spares the time needed to wait for a response to my letter, _Andate thought. It was just like her luck that all the news and correspondence would arrive right after everything finished happening.

There was a letter from Leliana, expressing concern for her well-being after the events in Kirkwall and asking if she needed any assistance, Zevran from somewhere in Antiva offering his services if she needed anyone assassinated, and a letter from First Enchanter Irving, requesting she come to the Circle to consult what the tower should do in light of what happened.

_One thing at a time,_ she thought, feeling a bit overwhelmed. First, the letter to the First Warden, then letters to the other Warden-Commanders, and then she could write a letter to Irving stating she would come. Leliana and Zevran could both wait, since they were not as urgent, and she honestly was not sure what to say to them yet.

She ate breakfast after she was done.

"You _really _haven't eaten yet," Alistair observed as she wolfed down her eggs.

"Shut up."

Her cousins were sitting with her, though once again, their companions were scattered around. Merrill was talking to a few Dalish wardens, finally overcoming her shyness to reach out to them. They were not very impressed that she was a blood mage, but they were probably less judgmental than most—the Grey Wardens were made of all kinds of absurd folk, after all, and the elf mage's sweet personality made it obvious that she had no idea what she was doing. Varric was trading stories with Oghren and the other dwarves, and it was getting rowdy on their side of the hall. Aveline and Donnic were talking to the templar and soldier wardens, Isabela was associating with former thieves, some of whom she had met before. Anders was still in the healing wing, using his abilities to tend to the wounded.

That they separated from their protective group was a good indication that Hawke's company was finally feeling at ease, except for the Tevinter elf, who sat by himself, refusing to associate with anyone, but there was nothing Andate could do about that. She was pleased overall; it seemed the fight had inspired trust in the Grey Wardens. _Funny how violence forges bonds._

"I still think you should come with me to Denerim," Said Alistair, "Just because I will not openly fight against the Chantry doesn't mean we can't do something anyway. I want to spread word through the underground networks, stir discontent." He had gotten very good at the political game over the years, and it showed, especially once his temper cooled down. "Gossip works as well as official news, in most cases even better, and I want all of Ferelden to know that the templars intruded on our territory without proper cause. In fact, I think that would actually work better than if I made a formal accusation; people expect conspiracies to remain unofficial, and underground rumors would do more to inspire distrust than official news. Popular opinion is as powerful as any sword, I have come to realize. We can curb the Chantry and put them in their place by social disapproval alone."

"Hm." _What do you know? _"Leliana contacted me; I just received a letter from her. Should I call her to Denerim?"

"Leliana!" Alistair blanched. "I told you she was one Archdemon short of a Blight."

"_I_ told _you_ that."

Fergus snorted.

"You did?"

"Yes, and you said 'Yes, but she seems more... "Ooh, pretty colors!" than "Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!"'"

"Really, Your Majesty?" Fergus smirked, "'Princess Stabbity Stab Kill Kill'?"

Alistair grumbled. "Why do you have such good memory?"

"I'm good at memorizing. Useful for spells." Andate glanced quickly at her companions, but as far as she could tell, only the Tevinter elf was distinctly uncomfortable with mages. Everyone else other than the mages was rather neutral about it. "Plus, that was a rather memorable line. How is the Queen, Alistair? And the Prince?"

"Missing Aunt Andy. Well not Elissa, you're not her aunt."

"Elissa misses you too," Fergus said in a slight long-suffering tone at Alistair's slightly bumbling attitude, one that the King used often to his advantage, actually, "She ordered me to come here in case the templars gave you trouble. I didn't realize they were so enthusiastic that they would get here before us."

Hawke looked a little stung by this comment.

"They've probably been itching for this moment for years," Andate said to attempt to alleviate some of the other woman's guilt, "My cousins were the last straw, I think, as was Anders. Everything is always Anders' fault."

"Hm!" Said Nathaniel, his mouth too full to say much more.

"I told you he was trouble," Fergus shook a finger at her, "You never listen to me. You're just like Elissa, stubborn and willful. Maker help us if you hadn't been a mage; you probably would have conquered all of Thedas, and the rest of us would have been your slaves. The only good thing is that the Orlesian Empress would be knocked off her high throne."

"I am _not _like that," Andate exclaimed, looking at her cousin, "I swear, Teyrn Cousland thinks the worst of me."

"With good reason," Said Alistair.

"Do I have to punch you again, Your Majesty?"

Alistair snorted. "Did you really just say that?"

The Hawke sisters had finished eating. The elder Hawke looked like she was getting uncomfortable. It took Andate a moment to place why.

"I would like to bring Hawke and her companions along, if that's alright," She said to Alistair, before looking at Hawke for confirmation. The woman blinked at this, but nodded.

"I would like that too."

"I see no reason why not. It's not like the palace cannot accommodate all of you." Alistair was as hungry as any warden, and he ate a few mouthfuls before resuming, "This situation with the Chantry is something that can create a lot of chaos, and many people will get hurt. It _is _best, as much as I'd like to strike at the Chantry right now, if we can avoid violence as much as possible. As King, and Andate as Arlessa, we are forced to be partisan simply due to our responsibilities and what we represent, but _you _are the face of change."

Hawke nodded gravely, seeming to comprehend fully what that implies. "I would like to do what I can to avoid war. I cannot stand to allow injustice to rule over Thedas, but I do not want innocents to be harmed in our effort to secure a better world for all."

Andate smiled. It was the first time, she realized, Alistair was addressing the Champion of Kirkwall as King, at least in Ferelden. She had no idea what capacity he met with her in Kirkwall, but back then he did not have as much authority, being a visitor in a foreign land. Now, he was subtly getting an impression of Hawke's priorities and motivation.

_Oh Alistair, when did you get so crafty?_ If only Morrigan could see him now. The witch would probably have a heart attack. Then again, Morrigan was not a fool. She had never said anything when Andate made Alistair king, which was significant because if she truly thought Alistair was incompetent, she would never have kept that to herself. _Then again, Morrigan never had a high opinion of kings. She probably thought it was just as well. _She did tell Zevran that Alistair was sharp, however, an unexpected compliment from the normally acerbic mage._  
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She missed Morrigan, oddly enough. Morrigan had not been the most comfortable companion; she was blunt and remorseless about her remarks, but Andate had learned that the line between foolishness and wisdom was a fine one, and much of what Morrigan believed had been based on ignorance and a distinct lack of understanding of the world. She was a wild creature, and wild creatures fend for themselves above all else. Her personality suited her, and served her well for the life she led. She saw no reason to change Morrigan, and she suspected that this was what led Morrigan to wish to change.

"I will go with you to Denerim and help them get settled; I think we will know more about what needs to be done once we are there," She told Alistair, "Teyrn Cousland will come with us, I assume?"

"Of course."

"After this, I have to go to the tower. First Enchanter Irving has requested I go to him to discuss the Circle's plans of action in response to Kirkwall."

Her cousin seemed nervous. "The First Enchanter wants you to go to the tower?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"Perhaps I am being paranoid," Hawke admitted, "But I can't think that is a good idea. If the Circle of Magi here is anything like the one in Kirkwall, there will be many templars about. You are Warden-Commander, it would be too easy to take you hostage, and you are important enough for there to be some advantage in making you 'disappear'."

"Hm. That," Andate nodded, "Is a very valid point." She respected First Enchanter Irving, and the elderly mage had been nothing but kind to her from her first day in the Circle, but she also knew that the man was naturally submissive toward the templars, who despite being more tolerant of mages than the templars elsewhere, were still obligated to obey the Chantry. It was not entirely Irving's fault; he had to see to the welfare of his wards, and submission would ensure that as many of the mages in the Circle were allowed to live as was possible, even if the quality was stifling. In this case, he would hand Andate over to the templars if it could spare the others of the Circle. Andate was, after all, no longer his ward, and he had no duty besides that of sentiment toward her. Still, she felt obligated to go to the Circle, in case there was no foulplay afoot. "I have to go, though. I grew up there."

"I don't really like the idea of you going to the tower, Arlessa Amell," Fergus broke in, "It would probably be better if you meet him halfway, perhaps in Denerim? Bring the Circle to the palace where the templars have less control."

"That is an excellent idea, Fergus," Alistair declared, "I shall write to the tower and have the First Enchanter bring as many mages as he wants. You can have your discussion in the palace as easily as in his office, after all, if the request is genuine."

"Then it's settled."

There was a loud commotion from the dwarves, as Hawke's dwarf companion recounted some adventure he shared with her. Alistair and Fergus turned around to look.

"Then every once in a while," He described, "These tinier dragons would suddenly show up and attack, while the mother of all dragons perched on high and shot stuff at us from her mouth. Hawke made quick work of them with her knives each time and took to shooting the old geezer right in his wide open jaws." _Storyteller indeed._

"Sod it all!" Oghren growled, beard foamy with his breakfast beverage of choice, "Our commander's fought _two _high dragons! One of 'em with darkspawn swarming all over ye…"

Varric did not appreciate being interrupted. "Well I'm sure your commander is pretty impressive as well, but as I was saying—"

"Ancestor's bloody knickers!" Oghren was too drunk to even know what he was talking about.

Andate flushed. Fergus and Alistair were familiar enough with Oghren's vulgar manners, but her cousins were not, and this was embarrassing. Before any of them could react, however, Anders returned from the healing wing.

"Oi, Skirt-boy!" Oghren raised his tankard, "Finished running your hands over people, have ye?"

"Oghren! How the bloody hells is your liver still functioning?"

"Bah! Shows what you know, mage!" Oghren belched. "Your friend Varric here's been telling tales about Andy the Second."

Hawke's face pinched a little in displeasure. Andate glanced at Nathaniel and inclined her head, requesting he take Oghren somewhere where he would not embarrass the wardens any further. Oghren was a good warden and a good soul, but he tested people's tolerance.

"Ha!" Oghren went on, "Though I suppose _you're _Andy the Second, aren't ye, Skirt-boy? That makes her Andy the Third!"

"Get outta here, Oghren," Exclaimed the other dwarf wardens, "Go before you wet yourself!"

"Pansies!" Oghren burped again.

"Don't think I've ever met a warrior caste quite like that Oghren," Varric murmured as Nathaniel managed to maneuver Oghren away, "There's a lot of stories that can be told about that, you know…how'd he get like that?"

"Was said he was always a sod-all nug-turd, managed to marry the smith paragon Branka, but turns out she liked to sleep with women…" Varric listened with rapt attention as one of the dwarves recounted Oghren's story. Andate heaved a quiet sigh of relief once Nathaniel got Oghren out of the hall.

"Maker!" Bethany exclaimed softly, "That is an unusual dwarf." The Hawke sisters fell silent as they listened to the dwarf warden describe the tale.

"He is not really fit for a normal lifestyle, or normal company," Andate said quietly, "But he is a good man, better than most where it counts."

"Hm," Alistair nodded in agreement.

The commander brushed her hands and stood. "I will start packing to prepare to leave in the morning. Best get that over with."

"Of course."

She nodded at the Hawke sisters, before taking her leave of the hall. Outside, tents were being pitched to house the captured templars. Some of the wardens were holding up the stripped armor and clucking at how impractical they were.

"How do they move in this dress? Why can't they have regular armor with some Chantry crest or something?"

She allowed herself to smile, remembering how Alistair once joked about liking templar armor. She had not been entirely certain if he had been serious or not, given his fondness for statuettes. It brought to mind the memories of younger times, when both she and Alistair had been naïve and innocent. They thought they were in love. She had been, at least.

She liked to think it had been hard for Alistair to give her up, but given how easily he came to love Elissa Cousland, it did not really seem to be the case. She was beautiful, she knew, and that did much to stir a man on a superficial level. Perhaps if Alistair had been anyone else, or if they had more time than the one year they spent together between fighting darkspawn, gathering their armies, and keeping track of their companions, perhaps the affection would have been deeper. She had loved Alistair easily, and part of her still did. He was an honest, kind man, who never judged her for being a mage, and it was like breathing for the first time after being submerged in oppressive waters. The pain at his rejection had been staggeringly deep, a harsh reminder after about a year of living in a dream that she would always be a mage and would therefore never be good enough.

Ten years later, the pain had died down to nothing. She could look at Alistair without the stirrings of hurt, look upon Elissa without the pangs of envy or the thought that the Queen's life should have been hers, that Duncan should have been hers. She was better than that, whatever the people might think of mages. But the lesson was learned, learned very well. Peasants were not meant to have luxury, and mages were not meant to have love. Everyone had something others lacked, and it was as it should be.

"We're totally keeping the swords and shields though. I'm going to convince Andy to let us. Chantry owes us that much if we do return these buggers back. Andraste's ass!"

_I might have pinched Andraste's ass._ The humor of the thought was only beaten by the absurdity of the fact that Arl Eamon might have eaten the same. _Stay classy, Chantry._

She passed by the offices and paused, before going in. It would not hurt to have Zevran by her side again, even if they were not sure they needed him, and Leliana, of course, should come to Denerim to be briefed on their plans. She likely would not be too supportive of any efforts to undermine the Chantry, but at the same time there were plenty of things she disagreed with the Chantry about, and as a former bard, Leliana was hardly the ignorant, naïve sort who willfully blinds herself to the evil in people. _Be always wary_.

_The company is coming back together again,_ Andate thought with a smile. _If only Wynne, Sten, and Morrigan were here._ Ten years later and she was still able to round up those who were still here. That was not too shabby, for a decade's worth of living.

_Dear Leliana,_

_It is good to hear from you! I hope you are doing well. The templars attacked Vigil's Keep, but we managed to overcome them with the help of the King and the Teyrn of Highever. I need you to meet me in Denerim as soon as you can, there is much to talk about…  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

Andate, Andarta

5.

Morning found the wardens and soldiers making last-minute preparations before their departure. Howe was to see to the keep, something that the man was very displeased about, but someone had to keep an eye on the templars crowded in the dungeons and other makeshift cells since there were so many of them, and also await any correspondence from Weisshaupt. Amell made rounds to give some final instructions to the rest of the wardens, leaving Andarta and her friends with the traveling company.

King Alistair did not place much emphasis in propriety, at least not when it came to how others should perceive him. That he was King was obvious, not just in his golden armor and the men who surrounded him, but also in his presence, the weight of his contemplation and regard, and his ability to select the main points at hand and address them. He was a tall, large man with a boyish smile, a strong jaw and firm eyebrows; overall a very handsome king. His affection for the Warden-Commander was clear, strangely because they bickered a lot. As far as Andarta could tell, he was the only man so far who could interfere with Amell's careful speech and cause her to occasionally stutter in frustration.

The King was also an observant man, showing a perception that was nearly equal to Amell's. He did not conclude Fenris had dealt with the Qunari, but he did notice the elf's wariness of her, and his stony demeanor.

"You remind me of Sten," He said to Fenris. "He's a Qunari. Didn't get along with anyone in our group, except Andy, and that's because she's got skin as thick as a warthog's and she's somehow good friends with…far more puzzling people. He refused to consider her a mage, which was quite a feat of mental discipline."

Fenris regarded His Majesty with the air of a person so confused and lost that his brave front made him look more disdainful than he intended. Fenris had never been one to be cowed by authority, but in the past, Andarta had always shielded him somewhat from the attentions of nobility, and he did not know how to behave toward the human sovereign. The King, Andarta was certain, did not like Fenris. He was not outright rude or condemning, and seemed as genial as ever, but there was an underlying challenge in his words. Wise rulers were always a bit wary of people they could not read, and Fenris jumped into his bad graces when he chose to dislike Amell.

It was unfair, so Andarta quickly moved to the elf's side.

"Fenris is, in fact, familiar with Qunari culture. He has been incredibly helpful to me and my companions in that regard. As the Warden-Commander keenly pointed out, he might have adopted some of their ways."

"The Qunari have their merits," King Alistair allowed graciously.

They were interrupted when Howe and Amell started arguing loudly.

"These men tried to infiltrate the keep! What is the point of this?"

"Nathaniel—"

"You realize that if we actually do this…" Howe's voice dropped in volume as he hissed something to her. Amell looked exasperated.

"We are Grey Wardens, not savages. We kill darkspawn, not people, unless they're keeping us from killing darkspawn. We _certainly _don't torture our prisoners, which this would be if we abandon them to their fates, and if we are to give them quarter we will give it to them _decently. _I won't have templars languishing in agony because of lyrium withdrawal—we have several hundred of them, if they all lose their minds it will not end well for us. Best work at weaning them off lyrium and treating them for symptoms. A little bit of work goes a long way, and a shortcut tends to be a longcut and a longcut short."

"And what? Present Thedas with several hundred templars who don't need lyrium?"

"I'm with the Commander on this one, Nathaniel," Sigrun said lightly, "If I remember correctly, Andy's humanity is what spared _you_."

"I loathe to agree," Anders muttered, "But she's right about this."

"Have Sigrun take the dwarves to arrange a supply of lyrium for the templars," Said Amell, "I don't want to bother going through the Chantry. Head directly into the Deep Roads to trade with the miners there. The templars have a long wait ahead of them if we are going to ignore the Chantry until the First Warden gives word, and there is a chance that by the time we can set them free, the templars that were unable to break free would choose to do so."

Howe looked unhappy, but he relented, and it seemed to be the final orders Amell needed to give. She mounted her horse as the rest of the traveling company did the same.

"Cousins!" She urged, "You and your friends can ride with me and Alistair. Oghren, I guess you won't ride with us?"

The ginger dwarf swore rudely and said something about only trusting his own two legs, but he was heading toward the same wagon Varric was in, so this was confusing for Andarta.

"Part of me wishes he isn't coming," Said the King.

"A change of scenery would do him good, I think," Said Amell. She kicked her horse into a trot, and they set out.

For the first few hours of their journey, much of Amell's time was monopolized by Anders and Isabela, who tried to outdo each other's tales of their respective conquests in their youth. The King and the teyrn turned a deaf ear to this while Amell managed to bear both gracefully—much more so than Andarta herself, given that most of Anders' stories seemed to clash with the man she knew, or thought she did. Fenris was uncomfortable with the horse, so Andarta did not contribute much to the conversation in order to keep an eye on him. Merrill, Aveline, and Donnic spent most of their time in silence, while Bethany fell deep in conversation with some of the other wardens.

"No one asked about the markings," Fenris noted quietly after the sun was very high and they were about to break for lunch. He was feeling subdued, so the lyrium patterns were dull at the moment.

"People didn't tend to ask in Kirkwall either," Andarta pointed out.

"They tend to stare," The elf replied, "These people don't. It is as if…they don't notice."

Andarta heaved a breath, feeling weary and wondering what Maker-forsaken emotional burden Fenris picked up this time. There were times when she wished the elf would just spontaneously pull himself out of his bitter gloom. She imagined years and years of putting up with his quiet angst and the thought did not please her the slightest. It was ungracious of her, she knew, for Fenris had suffered indignities she could never possibly understand, but all of her companions expected her to adhere to their preferences and conditions, and she felt like she was carrying Fenris' burden, along with Ander's, Merrill's, Aveline's, Isabela's, Bethany's…all along with her own, and she felt absolutely crushed and sick of it. "That's good, right?" She asked, knowing better and yet wishing the elf would just agree and make things simple for once, "Better than if they gawk at you, or mock you."

"At least I know how to react to that."

_Of course. _"Not everything is about you, Fenris." This time she did not even attempt to apologize for her brusque remark.

Fenris inclined his head. "Yes, that is true."

Andarta fell silent, trying to release her simmering frustration. It was not fair to take out her own fears on Fenris, or anyone. She had gone from the most important figure in a nation of sorts, to a nobody, and the transition left her feeling bereft. Everyone in Ferelden had generously maintained her title of Champion, but it was empty now; she had no legitimate claim to it. It felt like ten years ago, when her family first left Lothering and escaped to the Free Marches, and she had to fight with her sister to ascend from a mere refugee to someone of worth, except having done this once already, it felt like she spent ten years working hard and proving herself only to lose everything and be forced to start from nothing. It had been hard enough the first time, she had no energy to do it all over again.

Amell broke into her thoughts as she edged closer. "Cousin, I forgot to mention this before we left because we would only travel a few hours before lunch, but after lunch we have a long way to go before we break for camp for the night, and the horses would need rejuvenating part of the way. I understand that some of your companions are a bit wary of magic, so do you think you can convince them to accept a spell on their mounts?"

"Of course," Said Andarta, forcing a smile on her face. Someone with Amell's keen perception would surely notice how fake it looked, but the commander did not comment on it. "Don't worry, we're all quite familiar with magic when it is necessary. Thank you for warning us."

Amell nodded once. "We'll be taking a break soon; Teyrn Cousland tells me there is a campground they use frequently when they traveled from Highever to Denerim, and we are passing through the same way. I'm glad, because I'm starving."

"Wardens in general seem to have voracious appetites."

"As I said, comes with the job. Slaying darkspawn is hard work, you know."

"Are there so many darkspawn now, though?"

"Not that many," Said Amell, "Not as much as the Blight, which was when I first became a warden." Teyrn Cousland asked her something, so she moved her horse to his and away from her cousin's.

Aveline rode up to her a few minutes later as Donnic took over keeping an eye on Fenris and his mount.

"Riding with the King!" Aveline exclaimed softly, "I never imagined…or at least, not this way. I would have thought, perhaps, serving as the King's guard, riding in his cavalry—that would have been an honor too, but this…this is riding as a companion! And the Hero of Ferelden, we must not forget that. I was glad to call you friend before, Hawke, but this makes me extra happy I knew you. Being with you certainly makes life interesting!"

They broke for camp, as Amell had promised. The commander was very attentive of her guests as they began unpacking lunch, but her attention became stretched among many in the company and inevitably Andarta found herself and her friends abandoned for the time being. It was distinctly odd, because there was a sense that they should be doing something, but there was nothing for them to do. They were tagging along with a group of capable individuals and Andarta felt they were completely unnecessary. She was so used to seeing others as dependent, as requiring her aid, that now she felt a bit lost and unneeded. Unimportant.

Teyrn Cousland's men requested first-hand accounts of what happened in Kirkwall, which Andarta freely gave, but she did not like to recount the incident. The more she told the story, the less certain she felt that she had actually done the right thing. It felt only right, back then, but what came out of it? Kirkwall was in chaos, templars raided her cousin's keep, and Andarta herself had nothing to show for her accomplishments except for the memory of a glory that no longer truly belonged to her.

Fenris stuck close to her, something that hinted at his insecurity and anxiety. Andarta wished he would stick with someone else for a change. Usually she felt flattered, knowing that he trusted her enough to feel safer when with her, but Andarta was stressed too.

_I think I'm getting too old to enjoy being surrounded by strangers._

Her companions scattered across the temporary camp. Varric's audience laughed uproariously at something he said, Anders and Isabela ate with the King, teyrn, and commander, Aveline and Donnic exchanged stories with the King's men, and Fenris and Merrill sat with Andarta and Bethany, eating without outsiders for the first time since arriving at Vigil's Keep.

"Fereldens are so nice," Merrill said in her childlike way, "They are so polite! I really want to visit the alienage here, and see the Dalish; the shemlen teyrn told me that he knew the Dalish Keeper here, Lanaya, and said that we can probably meet her in Denerim!"

Marethari had loved Merrill like a daughter, but Andarta was not sure if the keeper here would be as tolerant. Though Merrill had learned her lessons about the Eluvian mirror, she had been reluctant to dismiss the ways of blood magic, insistent that blood magic was not what caused her beloved keeper to fall. There was no reason to say this, however. There was a time for everything, and they might not even meet this Lanaya.

"Are you alright?" Bethany whispered to Andarta, "You've been quiet. Something on your mind?"

"I'm fine," She released a breath, "It's just strange, being in such a big group, traveling."

"I can't believe our cousin is so young, she's even younger than me!"

The two sisters looked just in time to see Amell punch the King in the face.

"Do Fereldens do that?" Merrill asked, "Is that how they show their respect? I don't think I'd like that."

They were sparring while sitting, however, because the King swung back without pause. Amell caught his fist but lost her balance and fell over.

"I win!" The King announced loudly, "It left! You saw that right? She left the seat!"

"I demand a rematch," Amell pulled herself back, "The dirt slid under my boots!"

"Excuses excuses…"

"I think," Said Andarta to Dalish mage, "It's something exclusive to the relationship between King Alistair and the Warden-Commander. I've certainly never heard of the like with King Cailan, or even King Maric."

"He might have had a similar relationship with Mac Tir, though," Her sister pointed out.

"Maybe."

They set out again after everyone digested a little, and as Amell had warned, the trip was long. Fenris suffered a spell on his mount from Anders, since he was use to tolerating the healer's magic.

"You're making everyone uncomfortable," The mage said to the elf.

"Is that so?"

"Yes it's so. The King notices, and so does Andy, and so does the Teyrn. Must you always wear that grouchy look on your face? It's not impressing anyone, you know. Andy can kick your ass, lyrium or no lyrium, and the King's an ex-templar and a monster on the battlefield. Plus they have men on their side. It's not like looking tough would intimidate anyone here."

"I am _not _looking _tough_. This happens to be how I normally look, but I wouldn't be surprised if you were so focused on your obsession with freeing mages from templars that you don't _know _that after _ten years._"

"Leave him be, Anders," Andarta interrupted, exasperated, "Must you two always pick fights with each other?"

"How is this picking a fight? I'm just telling this bloody fellow here to _lighten up._ It's for his _own good_, as it turns out!"

Sometimes Andarta felt like she was dealing with a bunch of children who never had any hope of growing up. "Anders, go chat with the Warden-Commander. I won't have you two fighting when we're traveling with company." She had been sympathetic of Amell because of Oghren's brash behavior, but now she was starting to think she made for worse appearances.

Anders glowered at her indignantly but pulled his horse away as told.

_I am going to snap. I know it._

When night fell, they quickly found a clearing large enough to hold everyone. Giving each person their own tent would occupy too much space, so Andarta shared with Bethany, Aveline shared with her husband, and Isabela shared with Merrill. Varric did not want to share a tent with anyone, so he bickered with Anders and Fenris over who could have the single tent, because Anders was _not _sharing with Fenris and vice versa. Before Andarta could stop them, the quarrel descended to violence, while everyone else watched with a mix of shock and scornful delight.

"Alright, that's enough!" The King was annoyed, hauling Anders back after forcefully pushing Fenris away, while Teyrn Cousland grabbed Varric before he could whip out Bianca. "Honestly! How old are you all? You have two tents between three people. My brother-in-law and I can share and one of you can take my tent, so all three of you get to sleep in your own. There, problem solved. Maker!"

They were speechless for long enough that by the time any of them recovered their wits, the King had pranced off, leaving three dumbfounded men and one very embarrassed Andarta. It was hardly her fault, but she could not help but feel she appeared incompetent, and it was humiliating to her when she saw Anders shamelessly and gleefully take the King's tent. The _King._ The King of Ferelden had to break up her companions for her.

"Men!" Isabela clucked her tongue once the excitement was over, but was otherwise unconcerned. Anders loudly proclaimed that the King's tent was _fantastic_, and encouraged Andarta to check it out while he was still in it, much to her dismay. It seemed her male companions had indeed lost all sense of propriety, even as civilized people.

Amell spent the rest of the night looking faintly sympathetic, while the King and teyrn did their best to pretend nothing unusual happened. Andarta went to bed feeling bitter, and her visions in the Fade were restless and confusing.

The following day was better, as Andarta recruited Aveline to watch over Fenris instead, so she rode alongside Teyrn Cousland, who was interested in how she became Champion of Kirkwall, and how she managed to rally her companions and keep them with her for so many years.

"You only live once," Said Isabela, "Have all the fun you can get, and Hawke here's a lot of fun."

"More like trouble," Said Anders.

"Says the fellow who blew up a chantry," Said the King.

"You're never letting go of that, are you?" The mage muttered.

"Warden Anders, you _blew up_ a _chantry,_" The King sounded incredulous. "This isn't you stealing a cookie."

"I stole so many cookies," Amell interjected, probably to dispel any ill-feelings that might brew at this, "I led Jowan to stealing so many cookies…they were good cookies too…"

"Heh, I stole cheese," Said the King, "Back at Redcliffe."

"I'm not surprised. Alistair has a great fondness for cheese. I use to say that he's turned into a giant hulking glob of cheese that happens to be shaped like a man. Look at his armor. It's yellow."

"Hey, it's _gold _armor, and mind you I am firmer and more toned than any cheese."

"I don't know, Alistair. I've bitten into some pretty firm cheese—" Amell cut herself off abruptly, "But I'll say this, Cousin, if you have a preference for cheese, you will enjoy it very much at the palace."

The simultaneous subtle shift in body posture from both the King and teyrn made Andarta realize that there was a backstory, but Amell went on to speak of other things, with cheerful interjections from both Isabela and Anders. Anders, Andarta realized, seemed to have regressed somewhat in age when around his commander, more at ease with her than he ever was around Andarta, despite having only been with Amell for a year. The King, on his part, seemed determined to put Anders in his place, which was probably just as well; on the trip here, Andarta's companions had made an effort not to mention his act of terrorism, but a leader of a nation would be far less sympathetic, and it was probably as it should be. It made her wonder why he was as tolerant as he was, in fact. He could have thrown Anders to the prisons, and it was not beyond his rights or authority. True, he would have had Andarta to deal with, but it was not as if Andarta had much power and influence now.

"You need to loosen up," Said Isabela to the King, "Being married is no reason to deprive yourself."

"What if I don't feel deprived?"

Isabela clicked her tongue. "Is that so?"

Andarta gritted her teeth. It looked like today it was the women's turn to lose their senses. "I've always wanted to visit Denerim. What is it like? The only city I've been in was Kirkwall."

The King easily picked up the topic. "It's not like Kirkwall, certainly not like the Gallows. I think it's safe to say that the whole city is about as large as Kirkwall, perhaps even bigger. Most of the city is sectioned to estates for the nobles, though there is a marketplace, and there is an alienage, of course. I would say the main differences would be the buildings. Ferelden in general has different architecture from the Free Marches. There are also a lot more mages wandering around. There are templars to go along with them, of course, but they're free to go about, as elves are, at anytime of the day or night; there is no curfew implemented. Figured I should give the city guards something to do in return for paying their salaries."

Amell chuckled at this. "In the shadow of the Blight, the people unite. Here's to hoping that future generations build upon the reforms made in Alistair's reign. It is good to be a Ferelden mage, though it was not always so. In times like these, I'm glad Alistair is king instead of Anora."

The King glanced at her uncomfortably at this, but did not speak, and Fergus pointedly did not look at either of them.

"Of course, this presented its own problems, not that I would have it any other way," The King went on, "Turns out having a good life makes people happy, for some reason. The number of immigrants to Ferelden is astounding, especially from Orlais. Then I get nobles complaining about how Orlesians are taking over." He laughed, showing his good-nature, "More like we're taking over Orlais by stealing all their people. It's really sad, they have all these fine _shoes,_" He stared at Amell, "And don't see the point of dogs, but they'd rather give those up and live with barbaric Fereldens."

Amell thought this was hilarious too. "All the shoes in the world is nothing compared to the right to live. I tell you, Alistair, with the influx of culture from Antivan and Anderfels and Orlais, it would only be good for Ferelden."

"Yes indeed!" The King was proud, and rightly so.

Andarta wondered, again, if they should have moved back to Lothering once the Blight was over…or perhaps, not even Lothering. With the amount of money they amassed from the Deep Roads, they could have easily bought an estate in Denerim. The fear of mages had been so profound in their lives that even if they knew Ferelden had eased the restrictions, they would not have believed it, but what if they had? Her mother would still be alive, perhaps, Bethany would never have been herded to the Circle…so many things would have been different. Better. Maybe Anders would never have been able to blow up the Chantry, not without her help. Kirkwall would never have succumbed to chaos. Orsino…

She turned her head to find Fenris watching her, his face closed as always but his gaze intent. Listening to the Fereldens talking about how mages were free probably did not sit well with him. She met his eyes, but he did not look away. There was a question in those dark orbs.

She suddenly felt very tired.

The Fereldens had fallen silent, and Andarta was aware that she was making them a bit uncomfortable—their description of Ferelden's situation had been for her benefit, as an outsider, as well as for Anders and Isabela and Bethany. Her lack of reaction was covered up by the latter three, but it did not escape their notice. _Awful,_ She thought, _To be stuck with observant people!_

That night, eager to be useful, she volunteered to search for firewood. Amell gave her a whistle and planted her staff in the ground before shooting a small beacon out of it. The wardens and the King's men acted as if this were not unusual, but all of Andarta's mages gaped at the sight.

"Don't move out of sight of this," Amell warned, "Keep within the radius. We don't want to get lost."

It was a good gesture, Andarta decided, as Bethany eagerly went up to the commander to ask how it was done.

Fenris accompanied her as she stepped into the woods.

"Do you regret it?" He asked, after a long silence ensued.

"Regret what?"

"Staying in Kirkwall."

She turned to consider the beacon, partially concealed by the trees, but bright and warm like home.

"Part of me does," She said softly, "It sounds like Ferelden became a better place to live in."

"Only part?" He asked with a slight snort of derision.

It would be too awkward to articulate that if she had decided to move back to Ferelden, Fenris would likely be enslaved to Danarius again, so Andarta did not speak of it. It was likely the elf knew anyway, and was asking because of this.

"Whatever I wish, it is done," She said, echoing his words to Merrill.

She felt him close off from her; he was hurt, for some reason, and all of the sudden, her temper snapped like a pulled string.

With a violent thrust, she threw the firewood to the ground. "What do you want from me, Fenris?" She demanded.

He pulled up short, staring at her with frightened but guarded eyes. He said nothing.

"You can't keep—" She was not sure what to say, "You can't keep pulling my hand, Fenris! I'm here for you, but you have to work with me too! You can't stay stubbornly still and expect me to shove at you forever, do you understand? Sooner or later you have to move on your own!" She dropped abruptly to a crouch to gather the scattered logs. "You were right. I have no power here. I have no advantage. I can't protect you from things that hurt you, I can't shield you from attention like I use to."

Offended, Fenris bit out, "I don't _need _protection from you! I'm not a child to be cuddled!"

"Fenris—" _You have the emotional maturity of a child, you have the emotional stability of a slave…_and what of it? How could she expect any more from him? He was a slave. He only recently remembered anything, and the memories were horrific. She sighed, and her temper simmered down.

"Sometimes," She admitted, looking down at her armful of wood, "It feels like you're not even _trying _to get better, to have a healthier outlook on life. It's frustrating, because that was what I wanted for you. For you to be happy. And back in Kirkwall, I was…the Champion. I felt like I can do anything. I thought I could help you, be there for you, see you on that path."

Fenris was still smarting from her earlier comments. "You were arrogant. It was never your place to _help _me, Hawke," He snapped, "I only wanted you to assist me in killing Danarius. I don't need you to _teach _me to have a 'healthier outlook on life'. You're no better than me. It's not like _you _ever had much of one yourself, Champion or not."

Despite knowing that he spoke these words out of spite, Andarta was hurt. She stood smoothly, and suddenly wanted nothing to do with the elf.

"No, I suppose I never did." She did have enough wits to remember how Fenris might react to all of this in the long run. "Come, let's go back to camp."

He was reluctant, but she watched him without backing down, and eventually, he moved to walk in front of her, heading toward Amell's cheerfully glowing beacon.


	6. Chapter 6

Andate, Andarta

6.

Something had wedged between Hawke and the Tevinter elf. For the next few days, the silence between them was as palpable as a solid wall. Though Hawke herself had been discrete about her companions, Bethany was much more open.

"He was a slave," Said she, "To the Tevinter magisters, or one Tevinter magister. Darta helped him kill his former master and found his sister, who happened to be a mage, but he's…scarred, from many things."

Andate knew better than to try to befriend the elf even before knowing his past with mages, and she certainly would not try now. Hawke's other companions were enough of a handful without him; Anders was Anders, refusing to be ashamed of his terrorist tactics, much to the annoyance of Alistair and Fergus. Isabela alternated between trying to seduce the King and the teyrn, who as yet remained unmarried and still mourning his long dead wife and child, and seemed completely disinterested in the pirate. Aveline and Donnic remained reverent of Alistair, something that annoyed him in yet another way, while Merrill annoyed everyone else with her incessant questions.

"How come there aren't any dogs with us?" She asked, "I thought Fereldens liked dogs. People kept saying Fereldens love dogs so much, they sleep with them. Is that true? What? What's so funny? Did I say something wrong?"

After collecting herself, Andate gently told the elf that yes, Fereldens did love mabaris, and why her choice of words had been so amusing.

"Oh, I don't mean that!" The elf blushed bright red, "That would be awfully strange!"

She asked Merrill about her blood magic.

"There's nothing wrong with blood magic," The elf insisted with the air of having done this many times before, "It's no more dangerous than any other kind of magic. Mages can be possessed even if they aren't blood mages. Blood magic simply fuels the spells differently. It's an alternative method."

Anders groaned. Likely he had this conversation with her many times before, which meant many merits and demerits of blood magic had already been discussed.

"Do you often find yourself in need of using blood magic?" Andate asked. "Are you often in situations where regular magic will not suffice?"

"There are cases when only blood magic will work. In such cases, there are risks, but there are risks for everything."

"What cases are worth the risks of blood magic?"

Merrill confided in the Mirror of Eluvian, and her belief that blood magic would be what will save the Dalish people.

"I have to believe," The elf said emphatically, "I have to believe that we can reclaim ourselves. I will not stand to the idea that our ways are lost forever."

"No," Andate agreed, "There is a way you can reclaim yourselves, but it is not the way you think."

Merrill looked at her sharply, though not hostilely. "What do you mean?"

"Blood magic is not inherently evil," Said Andate, earning a surprised snort from Anders and a wary look from Fergus, "But it is a sword that cuts its wielder more often than its enemies. Like a bomb, it is effective at its purpose, but like a bomb, it only wins the battle, not necessarily the war. If you use blood magic, elf mage, you use a weapon that will destroy yourself. That is not a reasonable tactic to save your people with."

"Then what do _you _suggest?" Merrill asked indignantly, "No one ever tried—"

"Wrong," Andate shook her head, "The very Tevinters that conquered the Elvhenan destroyed themselves using blood magic. It is why their empire struggles to survive, despite the power of their mages. You are a child of a wandering people. You know the nature of parasites, that aggressive method of taking without restraint. Blood magic is a parasitic magic. It goes outward, unchecked, and that may seem the easy path in the short run, in the long term it actually leads to a dead end. This has happened before, it has been proven. Merrill," She turned to the elf, "I do not ask you to give up on saving your people, but the answer to your mission is much more obscure than you think."

"What do you know?" Merrill asked, genuinely curious. "Did you read something?"

"I read many things," She laughed, "But I will summarize as I can. Anytime a people fall, two conditions must be met. The first is an outside adversity, an invasion, an enemy of some kind, but this will not doom a nation without the second, that there is already an internal weakness within the people, either because of illness, famine, or cultural integrity. Merrill, the Tevinters were an evil people, who cruelly crushed the elves and enslaved them, but this would not have happened if there had not been something wrong with the elves to begin with." At the mage's slightly angry expression, Andate went on, "You can accuse all you like, and it will be true, but it does not change that the full reality is that your ancestors had been weak from the start, for some reason. If you wish to save your people, you need to find this weakness and rectify it. Languishing in indignation will not return the Dalish to their former glory, Merrill. Acknowledging your faults, taking steps to correct them, is what will ultimately save your people. For all the glory of the Elvhenan, you cannot deny that this did not keep them from falling to the Tevinters. The strong crushes the weak, and you were crushed, so you were weak. However, you are still alive, and as long as there is life in you, you can strengthen again. Do not resort immediately to blood magic, Merrill."

"Where would I find this out?" Merrill asked a little moodily. "The shemlens robbed us of our culture and history. We hold onto them barely, desperately scraping anything of the old we can find."

"The answers can be right in front of your eyes," Said Andate, "As long as you look with an open mind. None of us like to be criticized. That blinds us to the truth. If you are willing to accept your flaws, there are things written by humans that hint to the mindset of elves long ago. Gather them as you have gathered the parts of the culture you are proud of, and you will know what parts to improve."

Merrill's good nature meant she took the advice in the spirit it was given, and fell silent as she contemplated this. Fergus tapped Andate lightly on the shoulder.

"Are you trying to create an uprising?" He asked her.

"One good turn deserves another," She whispered back, "Adding elves to our colorful continent could only make things better."

"At least you are turning her from blood magic," Fergus's lips were twisted. He had been hard-pressed to keep silent as the two mages were conversing. "The Chantry says the Tevinters fell because of the Maker."

"At this point, I'm sure you know as well as I how the Chantry likes to alter history," Andate smiled wistfully, "Won't be long, I think, before the Chantry claims that the slayer of the Archdemon wasn't a mage after all."

"We will ensure that does not happen," Fergus promised.

It was sweet of him, Andate allowed.

"Do you think it will work?" Bethany asked, "Do you think mages will get our freedom? Do you think the elves will?"

"I think nothing exists in this world unless it's useful," Andate replied, "And therefore, without them we are doomed. If the mages and elves are not liberated, it will bode ill for everyone else as well. The Chantry presents a nearsighted persona as it is, because it is more concerned with affirming its authority. Like blood magic and imperialism, the Chantry will destroy itself because it is unchecked. Mages and elves still persist for a reason, and I think it is likely to check the Chantry and maintain a balance. If we fail, so will the world, and as the world seeks to preserve itself, I think we can succeed. That is not to say that this will be easy for any one of us, however."

"Of course not, but…I don't know. To be honest," Bethany looked away, "I can't see how things can change. People fear us too much."

"Wait until Denerim, before you decide," Said the commander, "People are not so hopeless as that. They are right to fear us, as it turns out. The issue to address is not that. It is to make them live with their fear. Darkspawn will never be completely annihilated, and neither will disease, risks, dangers. We must learn to live with them. It is a lesson easily forgotten with people."

"So you mean to say," Alistair teased, "That darkspawn are useful? Otherwise they wouldn't exist."

"What do you think?" Andate turned the question back on him. "Where did darkspawn come from?"

He gave her an exasperated glower. "The _Chantry _says that the Maker turned them from Tevinter magisters, and I've yet to hear another explanation."

"The Maker transformed Tevinter magisters into horrendous monsters that would terrorize His children and turn _them _into ghouls ever after? That honestly sounds more like a punishment for the rest of us rather than the magisters themselves."

"…"

"I can't claim to know for sure," Said the commander, "But I will wager this. Suppose evil is a finite thing, much of it is concentrated in darkspawn, and we mortals are free of it. Without darkspawn, evil finds other hosts, and those may well be us. The darkspawn are manifestations of the evil we would have harbored if they hadn't existed. They exist so we would not be evil. That is a good use, yes?"

"You don't make any sense," Alistair announced, "And you talk like—like what's her name, Flemeth. I command you, for the sake of our brains, stop talking."

Andate stuck a tongue at him, grinning. "Very well."

"Flemeth?" Merrill blinked. "Flemeth, as in, asha'belannar?"

"Can we not talk about that old hag?" Alistair shuddered, "Please? Dead things are supposed to stay dead. That not-woman woman still gives me the creeps."

"Flemeth was a witch of the wilds. Asha'belannar does ring a bell…" Andate remembered reading something about elves and the one they called 'asha'belannar'. "We killed her shortly before the end of the Blight. She turned out to be a High Dragon."

"You _killed _her?" Merrill looked aghast.

"Yes," Andate studied the elf, "She was planning to harm one of my companions. Why? Did you have a deal with her?"

"N—no," The elf blinked rapidly. "When was this?"

They quickly matched stories. At the end, Hawke had joined the conversation.

"Hahaha!" Andate exclaimed, "This is great."

"No it is _not_," Alistair protested, "By the Maker! That old hag is still _alive?_ I don't know if I can sleep after this!"

"We knew there was a chance she would live, despite appearances," She reminded him, "Or would not stay dead, more accurately. So the old witch knew we were coming, and anticipated our success! What do you know?"

"How can you be so flippant about this?" Alistair probably thought she had lost her marbles, "This is _not good! _This is _not good! _And here I thought she was dead!"

"Don't worry," Andate waved her hand, "If she holds a grudge, she bears it against me, not you. You were too unimportant for her to pay attention to. She knew I was the one who led our party."

"That does _not _make me feel better!"

"She's been alive for at least nine years, Alistair," Andate went on, "She hasn't come for us yet. Likely she never will, and certainly not to exact vengeance."

"She steals girls! Are we going to have to hunt her down again?"

"If we get a lead," Andate shook her head, far more impressed than dismayed, "But there are far more dangerous things in this world than Flemeth. It seems you and I," She said to Andarta, "Have entwining fates after all. Flemeth is not the kind to appear to just anyone, and let them live, at least. She saved both of us for a reason. I foresee great things from you."

"Stop talking like Flemeth!" Alistair exclaimed. He was very unsettled, so Andate took pity on him and stopped as he requested.

They reached Denerim in early afternoon. The King headed straight for the royal palace, where they were greeted by servants and guards. Alistair ordered rooms to be prepared for their guests, and while Hawke and company handed the horses to the stables, Prince Duncan raced to the entrance to greet his father. The King picked up his son, chuckling heartily.

"You're back! Did you save Aunt Andy? Aunt Andy!"

"That he did, Duncan! Give your Aunt Andy a hug!" Andate spread her arms out. Alistair set the prince down so the boy could run to her.

"I wanted to come!" Cried the six-year-old, "But Father wouldn't let me. He said I was too small." The scowl on his face was so like Alistair's, Andate burst out laughing.

"Well here I am," She said, "And I brought friends, look. Duncan, these are my cousins, Andarta and Bethany Hawke. Andarta Hawke is the Champion of Kirkwall!"

"Woooooooow…" The prince gasped in awe, and suddenly seemed very shy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness!" Hawke said warmly, and bit back laughter when the prince took her hand to kiss the back of it like a gentleman. "Charmed!"

Alistair was nearly crying from mirth. Fergus was in a similar state. "Where is your mother, pup?"

"She's coming," Duncan reported dutifully, "She was just training at the archery range, so she's changing. Mother missed you too. She wanted to go with Father, but Father said someone had to make sure the bratty nobles were in line."

The King and teyrn exploded with mirth at that.

"You have to watch what you say, brother of mine," Fergus warned Alistair, "This pup has good memory!"

The teyrn remained with them as they got settled, which was just as well because it was a chaotic affair, especially once the Queen joined them, her hair a little damp from washing and cheeks flushed. She kissed Andate in greeting and was very polite to the Hawke sisters. Soon afterwards, the chaos only doubled when it turned out Leliana and Zevran had been waiting for them.

"Andy!" Leliana hugged the commander, "It's _so _good to see you! I was worried, so I came to Denerim to see His Majesty, but when I got here I heard that he already met with you and you were on your way. You look well! I am _so _glad!" Her hair was long now, and streamed past her shoulders in rich curls.

Zevran kissed the back of her hand the way Duncan did for Hawke. "_Mi cara_, you are as lovely as ever. I knew those templars wouldn't be a match for you, _sí?_ How long will you be at the palace?"

"At least a couple of weeks, I would think," Said Andate, "I'm in no hurry to get back, given the templars that are occupying the dungeons now."

Zevran found the image this incited to be incredibly amusing and told her so.

"Oghren, my friend!" He exclaimed upon seeing the dwarf, "It has been too long!"

"Argh, elf!" Oghren smacked Zevran's hand that was held out in greeting, "Haven't changed a bit, have ye?"

"Not at all," Zevran winked, "And neither have you, I see!"

"'Course not. Won't have it any other way."

"I see you brought Oghren," Leliana was a little less impressed.

"Allow me to introduce my cousins," Andate ushered the Hawkes over, "Zevran, Leliana, this is Andarta and Bethany Hawke. Andarta is the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Ah," Zevran and Leliana both glanced at them.

"You look familiar," Said Leliana.

"I think we've met once in Kirkwall, while I was there," Zevran nodded.

"Really!" Andate was surprised. "'Tis a small world! I bet you didn't know they were my cousins, however."

"Oh, not at the time, no," Leliana shook her head, "But I knew they were related to you afterwards. Your mother was an Amell, right? Leandra Amell? I am sorry for your loss."

Hawke looked stricken by this.

"I am so glad you are both here!" Andate enveloped both in a hug. "This is great! We're all together again, at least as many as could be here!"

"Ah, Warden, I wouldn't miss this for all the women of Antiva. You're a hard woman to leave, did you know that?" Zevran chuckled.

"It's 'one for all and all for one'," Leliana agreed, "You were found worthy by Andraste. The Chantry has no right to harm you, and even if you didn't look upon her ashes, if one of us is attacked, _all _of us are."

They were whisked to the guest quarters, Leliana and Zevran accompanying all of them as the servants brought the packs to the rooms. The assassin flirted with the Hawke sisters shamelessly, while Leliana noted the Tevinter elf's subdued demeanor.

"There is a darkness about him," She said to Andate, "I wonder what his story is."

Andate considered for a few seconds before deciding to let the former bard figure it out from him. The group separated as their rooms divided into different wings; Fenris, Anders, and Varric wound up with one wing with Zevran and Oghren, Donnic, Aveline, Isabela, and Merrill in another, and Leliana shared with Andate and the Hawke sisters. Zevran, noting the number of ladies in the warden's wing, came over to join them as the wardens were allocated a fourth wing.

"We'll wash up," Andate told Hawke, "Take a nap, and join the King for supper and discuss our next moves there. I am very happy that Leliana and Zevran are here; they were my companions from the Blight, and I may be a little too optimistic, but with them here we can do anything!"

"'Twill be an honor, Champion, to work with you," Zevran saluted, "I am truly blessed to be able to meet such fine, strong beauties! Would you and your sister object if we find some time later in the afternoon to…get to know each other, if you will?"

"Zevran, _mi amor,_" Andate shoved him away, "Bug my cousins some other time."

"Tsk!" Zevran said in good humor as he stepped backwards, "You keep me from having fun, Warden. This offer should only be refused by its addressees. What say you?" He winked at the Hawkes. Bethany looked startled, while her older sister simply cocked an eyebrow. The assassin sighed. "Alas, Warden, it seems your relatives may be as difficult as you. Still, Zevran Arainai loves a challenge!"

"_Go away_," Andate laughed.

"She hasn't seen me for how long, and the first thing she says when we meet is to go away! I'm hurt!" But Zevran saluted, accepted Andate's kiss on the cheek with grace, and left the women alone, presumably to target Isabela and Merrill.

"Zevran is a darling," Andate laughed again.

"There is no one like him," Leliana agreed. She turned to the Hawke sisters. "Don't worry, he is harmless. Well, at least in this case. It's just the way he behaves, but he shan't force himself on you."

"Good to know," Hawke smiled, glancing quickly at Elissa and noting her lack of reaction, "I trust my cousin. Her friends are my friends."

"Come," Said the Queen, "Let's go wash up. You all must be tired from your travels!"

By suppertime it became clear that everyone was just too excited to meet each other to discuss anything serious. Leliana and the Queen wanted to hear everything the Hawkes had been through since leaving Lothering eleven years ago, while Duncan asked Anders to demonstrate magic tricks to compare to his 'Aunt Andy'. The six-year-old was also very curious about Merrill, asking her questions about the Dalish outside Ferelden. They had the same voice, which made Alistair very confused. Meanwhile, Fergus conversed with Aveline and Donnic, having not had a chance to on the journey to Denerim, while Zevran disastrously took to flirting with Fenris, who received his offers with the closed expression of someone too alarmed to express facially.

"Really," The elf said to the other, "Your markings are quite beautiful, indeed! I must say, whoever did this had great taste."

"Why do the Dalish tattoo their faces?" Asked Duncan, "I always wanted to ask Keeper Lanaya, but never had a chance. Are they all assassins, like Zevran? Or are they casteless like the dwarves?"

"And if blowing up one Chantry failed to incite mage rebellion?" Alistair stated wryly to Anders, "Did you intend to blow up another Chantry?"

"You married twice?" Fergus asked Aveline in open bewilderment.

Andate slapped her lap and gave up keeping conversations in check. It was probably best that all the awkwardness is out of the way now, given that everyone had yet to figure out what topics were off limits. There was never a rule that said all of Hawke's companions had to get along with hers, and if they were to work together, none of this matters anyway. She did expect better from Fergus though; his boldness was a little telling, as he obviously wanted to hear how another who was widowed was able to move on.

"Zevran," Isabela, of all people, came to save Fenris, since Hawke was still engrossed in conversation with Leliana and the Queen, "Fenris here is far too stingy for such things."

"Oh? Then perhaps he should loosen up. I can help with that."

"No you can't," Said the pirate.

"Ah, I see. That is too bad," Zevran bestowed a charming grin on the bewildered elf, "You are really such a fine specimen."

The lyrium markings on Fenris glowed in his agitation. Andate threw a mild spell at her cousin to get her attention. Hawke turned to her, frowning in bemusement, and she tilted her head at the elves. For a moment, the other woman looked like she wanted to leave the Tevinter elf to his fate, but duty smoothed her complexion and she called the elf over.

"Fenris is a dear friend," She said to the Queen, "He's been at my side for much of our struggles. He's well-acquainted with the Qunari ways and helped me drive away the Arishok."

"During the skirmish three years ago?" Leliana exclaimed, and seized the opportunity to break the ice with the elf, "Oh, do tell us! How did you get to know the Qunari?"

Hawke's face pinched at this, while Fenris replied stoically, "They rescued me from someone I was running from. Then I killed them."

Leliana blinked. "Oh…"

"Dalish don't assassinate people!" Merrill was horrified by Duncan's innocent accusation, "We only fight when threatened! We don't like drawing attention, and killing people would surely do that! We wear these tattoos because that's the way of our people."

"But isn't that painful?" Duncan asked, "And don't they get gross and ugly when you start getting old and wrinkly? Mother told me that's what happens when I asked her if I could get one like the elves. She said once your skin gets old then the dye starts getting recolored and you look like there's something bad growing on your skin. Is that true? Is that what happens with elves?"

"Well…"

"Look, Your Majesty," Anders scowled, "You weren't there. You don't know what it's like for mages. We're dangerous, true, but we're in danger too, and it's not like becoming abominations is a walk in the park for us either."

"So you blow up a Chantry, killing innocents inside, including the Revered Mother, to convince everyone else that mages should be protected, not feared."

"Donnic knows," Aveline said defensively to Fergus, "I have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Sod it all!" Oghren yelled, "I'm out of ale! You! Get me another one!"

_I can't believe it, _Andate thought in dumbfounded shock, as she caught herself completely ignoring the brash dwarf, _The only person I'm not worried about offending other people is _Oghren.


	7. Chapter 7

Andate, Andarta

7.

It rained the next morning. Everyone had gone to bed with lousy spirits, and Andarta did not speak with Fenris. The next morning, everyone assembled for breakfast with the exception of Teyrn Cousland, who had gone to his Denerim estate after supper last night. The morning meal was much more casual than dinner; all the awkwardness generated from the ill-conceived conversations of the previous meal did much to at least teach everyone how to behave around each other.

Andarta and Bethany sat with their cousin. Fenris had been pulled by Varric to sit with Leliana and the Queen; the dwarf was fond enough of the brooding elf that he had enough consideration to create a group for him to assimilate to.

"Something occurred to me last night that I think I should discuss with you," Said the Warden-Commander, "About how we can resolve this issue with mages. It's pretty dramatic, I think, and probably not too probable, but it's because of this that I think I should mention it, just to get it off the table. Before I start I should remind you that I ended a Blight and slew an Archdemon."

"Al…right?" Bethany blinked at this.

"You know how there are Grey Wardens that kill darkspawn."

"Yes?"

"What if," Amell paused as if considering her words, "We have people that kill demons?"

"We already kill demons," Andarta said dryly.

"Well that's why it's not so inconceivable as one would believe. What if we have the Grey Soldiers, or something along the lines, and our job is to kill demons. Our job is to get rid of all the demons in the Fade?"

"You'll never kill all of them," Bethany sputtered, "There are far too many!"

"There are far too many darkspawn, as well," Amell pointed out, "But while the goal is to get rid of all the demons, what if there was a threshold where after enough demons are killed, people wouldn't be possessed so easily?"

Andarta caught on instantly. "Then we wouldn't need so many templars guarding all the mages, because they wouldn't be such a danger." This would eliminate points of temptation as well, possibly reduce the number of blood mages…why did no one think of this before?

"The scale would be very great, and it would be hard to convince others," Said Amell, "But the right road isn't always an easy one, and I feel very strongly that this is an option we should consider at length."

As expected, everyone had their own opinions on this proposal.

"Are you _crazy?_" Anders yelled at her, "You don't go _seeking _demons out! That's just stupid!"

For once, Fenris agreed with him. "This sounds incredibly foolish."

"Heh!" Oghren laughed, "Killing stuff. I like."

"_Mi cara,_" The Antivan assassin exclaimed, "This sounds like a challenge indeed, but if we are to undertake this, we would need a lot more than we have."

"I don't know," Varric looked at her slyly, "We're pretty good at what we do. Which happens to involve killing demons, when they show up. We've done it before, and in the Fade too."

"I have doubts about this," Said Aveline, looking at Donnic, "We may be good, but we certainly wouldn't take on Ferelden by ourselves. Taking on all the demons in the Fade seems at least a hundred times worse."

"I think this is brilliant," Merrill said surprisingly, "After all, demons invade the real world enough times. Why not step into the Fade for a change?"

"Take the battle to the Fade, hm?" Isabela glanced at Andarta, "Didn't think it would come to this when I first signed up to join you for the Deep Roads expedition, Hawke."

"I'll follow you wherever you need me, Andy," The Orlesian told Amell seriously, "This seems risky, but I know you wouldn't consider this if you haven't thought long enough about it, and we've met worse odds with the darkspawn. I trust your judgment."

It was the King's turn to stutter and lose his composure as he argued with the commander.

"I'm _not _letting you do this! Do you have a death wish? No, we are _not _talking about this!"

"You don't get to have a say in this," It was also the first time Andate Amell seemed irritated with anyone, and Andarta could not help but find it amusing that she decided to do so with the King of Ferelden. "You're not participating whether or not we're going. Your job is to run Ferelden and make sure you protect Ferelden mages because they are your people, but if we go to the Fade, you can't come with us anyway."

"I so _do _have a say in this, whether you like it or not!" His Majesty exploded, "Just because I am King does not mean you get to lock me out of these affairs, Andy!"

"You're in enough of a tight spot as it is!"

"You put me in this spot! And I'm telling you Andy, it's-it's-it's been _ten _years since I needed someone to decide what I do with my life!"

"You have a wife and son, Alistair!"

"You have this bizarre belief that just because I'm married and a father, I'm somehow irrelevant to everyone else!"

Amell shot to her feet and slammed the table hard enough that everyone started in their seats.

"You _have _a family, Alistair!" She thundered, "Some of us are not that lucky!"

Andarta and Bethany exchanged a worried look. Everyone else seemed to sense that the argument had just gotten personal.

Oghren belched. "Eh…lover's spat. What's all this yelling for, anyway?"

"Shut up, Oghren," The Warden snapped, not taking her eyes off the King, who looked like he had just been punched. "You have responsibilities, Alistair, and you also have luxuries that you should really make a better effort to appreciate. Both of these are reasons for you to stay out of this. Whether we go to the Fade is no business of the Crown's."

"Is it no business of a friend's either?" The King pointed out. "Or a brother's?"

"You've never been able to influence _my _life," Amell stated impassively, sitting back down.

A sudden silence fell, so heavy and thick Andarta felt choked. No one knew what to say.

"I know," The King said softly, staring down at his hands despondently, "I've failed you, Andy. I'm sorry."

"You haven't failed anyone," But there was a distinct sense that she was lying, "This isn't about me, this is about mages, and mind you I am talking about leading friends into the _Fade_ to slay _demons._ I'm well aware that it's not just my life I'm risking."

"Who was trained as a templar here? Anyone? Anyone? Oh, hey, it's me! I'm the only one who had templar training. _I have a say in this._"

"Fine. Alistair's dead set on us not going. Anyone else?"

The King scowled. No one else spoke.

"I think we should break and think over it ourselves," Andarta suggested gently, "It's a big decision and warrants some time for contemplation."

"Fair enough," Said her cousin, "We'll talk about this later."

When the group broke up, the King looked miserably and even Anders looked a bit chagrined. The only companion of Amell's that was not at all bothered was Oghren, who continued laughing about the quarrel in that tactless way of his.

"Did something happen between the two of them?" Andarta asked Leliana, "Were they…lovers?"

"They were close, during the blight," Said the Orlesian, "But old dynamics die hard, even after ten years. I think it's difficult for Andy to reconcile to the fact that Alistair is no longer just another warden who was willing to do whatever she told him to."

"That's not it though," Andarta frowned.

"You'd have to ask her yourself," Said Leliana with an apologetic smile, "Their story is not mine to tell."

Bethany had better luck with Anders.

"The Commander's always been really professional," Anders told them, "Upstanding, that sort of thing. Back when we were at the Circle of Magi, she was a looker then, like, whew! But as much as I liked teasing Oghren about the skirts, copulating was a no-no. And, to be honest, it's not that wise. You know how templars are all virgins, right? Well they're not virgins. It's sort of…magesmart, I think, not to behave too precociously, especially the girls, because if the templars force you, it's not like you can complain to anyone—they'd just send you to Aeonar and claim that you're trying to get templars in trouble because you're a _mage _and _all mages are evil _and you probably seduced them in the first place_._ Sure, many mages go ahead anyway, but there are a lot of girls, especially, who are _ridiculously modest…_and Andy's one of them. Always got her nose stuck in a book, and let me tell you, she's always got this awful hair, so I don't know if she ever hooked up with the King. It's not like people in Ferelden really talk about it, she and His Majesty certainly never mentioned it, but it does make you wonder, doesn't it? Sometimes they just get really awkward with each other. Nathaniel and I once discussed that maybe this was why she never returned anyone else's courting. She's a looker, you know, and there were plenty of male wardens, but nope. Nathaniel thinks that she was hurt, somehow, that she was in love with the King, but the skies will fall down before Ferelden has a mage queen, and even when I was here it's infuriating because there's always some part of her that hints that she thinks she's not good enough. Like, she loves kids, she loves children, but she'd do something, say something, that suggests she's not good enough to have kids, she doesn't deserve it, she has to get a _husband _first and who would want her?" Anders made a face as if saying, _Really? Who would want a hot Hero of Ferelden?_ Andarta suspected that he might have been one of the male wardens who courted her but was rejected. "But you have to know her really well, or she has to get really upset and lose her composure, because the Commander's pretty good at not letting her personal feelings get in the way of _duty._"

"Would you consider that earlier scene 'losing her composure'?"

"Oh definitely," The healer nodded emphatically, "I've never seen them go at each other like that. Of course, I'm with the King here. You're not…actually for this, are you? Because this is insane. She's insane. She thinks just because she slew an archdemon, she can take on all the demons in the Fade. _Please._"

"It's worth a try, I think."

"Seriously?"

"Well, you're welcome to sit this one out, if you want." Andarta turned away, "But the Commander and I share this in common, at least: we've never been the type who let impossible odds get in the way of what we must do."

Anders sputtered. "This isn't like when you fight abominations, Hawke! Even Grey Wardens go to the Deep Roads to—the Fade is _their _territory! _They _have the advantage there! It's _their _home front! You can't expect to win something like that!"

"They keep invading _our _world."

"And they _lose!_ Don't you get it? They take down a lot of innocent people but in the end they still _lose!_"

"And that's when we're not on the offensive. What will happen if we are?"

"This is beyond idiotic!" Anders bemoaned as he followed Andarta down the hall. "Aren't cousins supposed to be different?"

"Perhaps, but that does not mean we have to disagree on everything. I'm of the same mind; how many times have we been told something is impossible, Anders?"

"Demons have existed in the Fade for thousands of years, Hawke. What makes you think some idiot hasn't tried it already?"

"The Warden-Commander seems the studious type, and seems to have read a lot of books."

"_I've _read a lot of books! I happen to come from the same circle as she did!"

"Yes, well, if between the two of you and Bethany, none of you have read any accounts of such an attempt, I think it's worth a shot, just so we can put it in the books later on." Andarta drew up short to face him. "Of course, if you truly feel this is not a worthy use of your time, you are welcome to sit this one out. You've already demonstrated that you have a mind of your own." It was the first time she hinted at the chantry incident. Anders looked like he had been punched.

She felt no sympathy this time. _What, did you think just because I never mentioned it that I somehow _forgot_?_

"I'm not going to abandon you," He stated, wounded, "Especially not after how you stuck by me all this time."

It should have been a perfectly harmless thing to say, but somehow it added fire to her temper. "You know what," Andarta spat, "I'm sick and tired of hearing things like that. 'I will do this because you did something for me'. 'I'll do this in return for what you've done'. It's always been _quid pro quo_, a favor for a favor with you lot. Guess what, I didn't do anything so you can pay me back! I happened to stick by you because I considered you a dear friend! But it's obvious that all you people ever see is that you owe me—well you know what, you can stuff it! You are not obligated to go on a useless, worthless suicide mission just to pay me back, alright? Sit this one out, Anders! We're probably better off without you!"

Anders remained where he was as she stormed away. She did not turn around to see the effect her words had on him. Bethany was talking with Leliana, and the two women watched her with worried looks. Andarta headed straight to her quarters and shut the door behind her, taking in deep breaths.

Ten years, and she had never lost her temper like that. Now, within a week, she has done it twice.

She was sitting on the bed, head in her hands and elbows braced on her knees, when Aveline knocked and entered the room.

"Hawke," Said the warrior woman, "Can I come in?"

"You already have, haven't you?" Andarta muttered morosely. She listened to the footsteps approached, and the bed dipped as the ginger-haired woman sat down next to her. Without her armor, Aveline looked smaller, less like a soldier.

"I gave both Fenris and Anders a tongue-lashing," Said the former captain, "Men. They're blind, most of the time. I should know—Donnic is the same way."

"Hm." Andarta laughed lightly, heart too heavy to do much else.

"But they didn't mean it, you know," Aveline went on, "They're use to depending on you for things. You know how men never grow up. They didn't realize that you are really stressed too, and their antics weren't helping you any."

Trust Aveline to see what the problem was when no one else did. Andarta gave her a tearful smile. "I feel like everything's unraveling right in front of me," It was strange to talk about her problems for a change—she was so use to listening to other people's problems and keeping hers inside. "All of the sudden my life is gone, I'm in what use to be my homeland but none of it is recognizable, we're in a group but I don't know my place in it. The Hero of Ferelden is making all of the decisions and I don't even know why I'm here."

Aveline took her hand. "I don't claim to be a great judge of character, not in civil situations, anyway, but I think the Warden really respects you. She doesn't really know how to interact with any of us, and looks to you for guidance. If nothing else, you two are family, and she seems to really like having you around. As for your place in this new group of misfits, well, I think the Warden is also stressed out about that. We're all getting use to each other here, and I can already see that it's going to be a rough road."

Andarta laughed more openly at that. Zevran Arainai and Fenris…_Oh Maker…_

"But whatever happens, we _will _stand by you. We'll all do stupid things, but we stick by each other through it all. It's what family is, right? And if anyone gives us nonsense, all of us will stand up and remind them that you were Champion of Kirkwall for a _reason_, and it wasn't because you were pushed around."

The former champion chuckled. "What if it's the King?"

"The King? If it's you versus His Majesty, I'm betting on you. I'm not joking."

That was touching, especially since Andarta could see that Aveline clearly meant it.

"There's a saying," The older woman went on, "Home is not a place. Our home is wherever you are, and your home better be wherever we are, or else I'm going to kick you in the you-know-where until you realize that."

"Hahaha. You'll miss."

"Try me."

The two women chuckled together.

"This thing with demons…"

"I don't know," Aveline announced, "We've killed our share, and it wasn't too bad. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't bother me a little, but demons do seem to be the root of the problem, and I'm always for settling the source. Donnic and I—we're both with you on this one, whatever the group decides. If you think it's worth a shot, then let's give it all we've got."

"Well now I just have to convince Anders and Fenris."

"Fenris is just concerned that the mages might turn on us, or that one of us would be tempted by the demon. You remember what happened with that half-elf."

"Feynriel?"

"I seem to remember Merrill and Varric attempting to take the demon's offer."

"They've learned their lesson, as have we all."

"Are you sure about that?"

"With me and Andate keeping everyone together?"

"Oh Maker, that's twice the charisma…"

Andarta giggled. "Of course, we have nearly twice the numbers…"

"Still, the two of you together are way more than the sum of your parts."

The former champion sighed. "I have to talk to Fenris, don't I?" Anders had already promised to side with her, even if she blew him off for it.

"I can talk to him for you, if you need a little distance for now. I don't have your way with words, but I do have some common ground with him."

That was true. Aveline and Fenris had both been more supportive of templars than mages. They had both switched sides at the battle in the gallows, surprisingly, but the shared philosophies was probably enough for Aveline to appeal to him.

"Make sure you tell him that he's not obligated to come with us if we go."

"I think Fenris would hit you for that, and he has far better agility than I do. If you go, he's coming. That goes for any of us." Aveline squeezed her hand. "If even Isabela's hanging around, and she's a pirate, then everyone else must as well, if only for the sake of pride."

"Heh," To her dismay, tears welled from her eyes and spilled over. She wiped her cheeks hastily. "Thanks a lot, Aveline. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Hawke. I'm going to go talk to that brooder."

Andarta thought she had cleaned herself up before leaving the room, but somehow Leliana figured out she had been crying.

"Are you feeling better?" The Orlesian asked, concerned, "I think everyone is going crazy. First Andy, and then you." The Antivan stood next to her looking miffed, but it did not seem to be because of Andarta. It was a strange look on him—he seemed to be the type of person who treats everything with a blasé attitude.

"I'm alright," She replied, "What's the verdict with your group?"

"It's mostly Alistair versus Andy," Leliana replied, "Of course, that doesn't seem to be liable to resolve anytime soon. They're not talking to each other. The rest of us are just sitting around waiting to see who wins."

"But they're not talking to each other."

"We're planning on waiting for a while. I've tried talking to Alistair, but this time it's actually Andy who's being really stubborn and refusing to see him."

_Awkward._

"She's going," Andarta said knowingly, "Whether he likes it or not. The only issue really is whether he's joining. It doesn't seem like Andate intends to bring him along."

"Yes well," The fair Orlesian's face turned a little sour, "When Alistair mentioned he was a templar, he was not joking, and templars have a way of making things a bit difficult for mages, even ones as powerful as Andy."

"He smote her," Zevran interjected, scowling openly now.

_Oh._ That…was not very diplomatic. And explained why the elf was so upset.

"That's a bit…extreme."

"Right," The Antivan huffed, "I think the throne has spoiled our templar friend."

"Is anyone with her?"

"Your sister is," Leliana informed her, "As is the Queen. I've mostly been yelling at Alistair."

Everyone seemed to be yelling at each other. Surprisingly, this made Andarta feel much better than she had even a minute ago. It was a bit nice to know that she was not the only one losing her marbles. It was interesting that the Queen was not the one yelling at her husband—it confirmed that the King and the Warden-Commander had been lovers, because if the Queen had scolded her husband for attempting to protect his former lover, it would have looked ungenerous and petty on her part. Better leave that tongue-lashing to someone with a more platonic relationship.

"What about you?" She asked Zevran. "Were you standing out here this whole time?"

"I'm an professional assassin," The elf said flatly, "His crown would not intimidate me into keeping my daggers sheathed."

His scowl would be mild on anyone else, but Andarta acknowledged that on Zevran Arainai, it was an indication of just how furious he was.

"I'm going to go see her," She announced to the two.

Amell had been at least as angry as Zevran about the incident, enough that she was crying as Andarta had been. She looked pale as she sat on the side of the bed, her anger the only thing keeping her from swooning. The Queen was holding her while murmuring words of comfort, and Bethany was sitting on the other side of the bed, looking awkwardly at the situation.

"I am going to _kill _that bastard!" The Warden roared, "I'll string him up to hang in the Black City, see if I don't! He thinks just because he's the King of Ferelden, he can bully me!"

"I agree there were better ways to go about it," The Queen said in a placating tone, "But he cares for you, sweetheart. Don't take this the wrong way."

"He has a funny way of showing that he cares a _wit _about my feelings!"

Andarta knelt by the side of the bed, sitting back on her heels. Amell abruptly fell silent, save for the frequent sniffles, and the two cousins stared at each other. The Queen held the Warden up and on steadied her whenever she swayed.

"You're not seeing me at my best," Amell told Andarta dejectedly.

"You didn't see me thirty minutes ago."

"Ha! I bet none of _your _friends would attack you under the pretense of 'looking out for your best interests'."

"No, but I've had friends who attacked me because they wanted to," Andarta thought of Merrill and Varric in the Fade, when they took up the Sloth demon's offer, "And and they didn't even pretend it was for my benefit at all."

"Hm! Well it still makes us even, because one of _my_ friends tried to assassinate me when we first met."

"Well one of _my_ friends stole something from the Qunari Arishok and nearly made him kill me."

Amell suddenly exploded in laughter, and Andarta joined in. The situation was too absurd.

The mage then sniffled. "Are you…coming?" She asked.

"Ready when you are."

"And all your companions?"

"I've been trying to get rid of them for years. Hasn't worked so far."

"Ha! Well once I recover my mana we can be on our way. You should help me steal some mana potions to speed it up. _Alistair _has had the guards take away my stock and isn't letting anyone give me any."

"Maybe you should wait a bit," Amell was stressed too, Andarta could tell, and this new quest they were to embark on was perilous and long. "We should all take care of our affairs first."

"Oh. Do you have any?"

"No, but you do."

Her cousin blinked at her.

"Aren't you going to wait for word from the Circle of Magi?"

"Oh, right," Amell looked at the Queen flatly, "Well you can tell your idiot husband that he smote me for nothing."

"I wish you wouldn't go," The Queen said in her gentle way, "It will kill Alistair to know he could have stopped you, and what about me? And Duncan? Please think more on this."

"Alistair has never been able to stop me from doing anything I put my mind to," Amell said flatly, and pointedly ignored the Queen's remarks about herself and her son, "I'm not destined to live a comfortable life."

Andarta realized what Anders meant when he said that she hinted at far more self-deprecating things. Everything in her body language echoed, _I don't deserve a comfortable life._

It was easy to see that Amell meant more to those around her than the Warden thought she did. Andarta thought about Aveline's promise that all of her friends would stand by her, and her warning of what Fenris would do if he was forced to remain behind._  
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"Try to think from his point of view," She said to Amell, "He probably would be more amenable to the idea if he's allowed to come with you. He's King, though, so he can't. It's a lot harder to see a friend—sister ride off into danger without you than to go with her and face it together. He feels left out and like he's abandoned you. He's reacting to this the only way he can."

Amell paused. "Well he's still an idiot!" She snapped sulkily.

"He's a man. Men are all idiots. No offense, Your Majesty."

"I happen to know exactly how true that is," Said the Queen with good humor.

"Well you're all under orders to kick his butt for me while my mana is still depleted. Except for you, Elissa, since I can't give you orders."

"I don't need them," The Queen laughed. She tightened her embrace briefly and stood slowly to hand Amell over to Bethany. "I'm going to go to Alistair, make sure Leliana hasn't skewered him."

"She's out in the hall," Andarta reported, taking the Queen's place on the bed, "But I expect the King survived."

The Queen laughed, taking leave of them.

The three cousins adjusted their positions to lie down on the bed, cuddling a little next to each other.

"I wish I met you girls sooner," The Warden said while staring at the ceiling. "We could have had some good times."

"Please. We're going to take on all the demons in the Fade. We'll be having some good times alright."

"We're going to need to plan," Said Bethany, "And recruit, I think? Though I'm not sure what other people would be so…"

"Crazy?"

"We have something of an army already," Said Amell, "We don't want too big a group. We'll be strong, because we trust each other and can depend on each other. If it's too big, we'll have people backstabbing each other because they were seduced. I think this is perfect."

Andarta counted. "Isabela, Varric, Aveline, Donnic, Merrill, Fenris, Anders, Bethany, me. You, Leliana, Zevran, Oghren. We have thirteen people. Five rogues…four warriors, four mages."

"I don't like the number thirteen." Amell frowned. "I might have two more candidates in mind, but I don't know if I can reach them. We'll see."

"Who are these two companions?" Andarta guessed randomly, "A Qunari, maybe?" _Sten?_

"He's one."

"…Who's the other?"

"I'll tell you if it works," Amell said lightly. "Oh _Maker_ I hate smite. I hate it I hate it I hate it. Curse Alistair! He's a royal bastard!"

Bethany giggled.

At some point, despite the sun shining into the room, all three of them fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Andate, Andarta

8.

"It is _very _good that you asked him to come here," Leliana told Andate as she looked over the First Enchanter's letter, "I like your cousin. She's very sensible."

Of course, it could be that Irving was refusing to come to Denerim because there really _were _matters at the Circle he must see to, but having lived at the Circle, Andate was well aware that nothing there could be so bad that the First Enchanter could not spare a few days away from it. There was foulplay, and she had narrowly dodged it.

"How are you planning on contacting Sten?"

"I may need to ask Fenris about that."

"He doesn't like you," Leliana said guardedly. "Apparently he's been enslaved by some Tevinter mage. Maybe you should ask your cousin to talk to him?"

"I certainly won't approach him by myself," Andate agreed, taking the letter back. "He might try to kill me, and that would _really _sour relations." It was honestly amazing that no one had tried to kill anyone else yet_, _other than that mishap with the smite.

She was still angry with Alistair, even if most of her had forgiven him already. It was hard to hold a grudge against a man who was trying to look out for her the only way he knew how, even if he was a blonde fool, as Morrigan would have put it. Speaking of Morrigan…

"Chaos take it," She sighed, "I need to talk to Alistair."

"You should," Leliana agreed, "Or else he'll be absolutely miserable."

"I also need to talk to Bethany, Merrill, and Anders," Andate ran her fingers through her long hair, "Because before we set off to do anything, I want to recruit at least one other person to the group."

"Oh? Who?"

Andate paused. Leliana was not going to like this. "Morrigan."

The Orlesian's face darkened. "You can't be serious."

"There's no guarantee that she will come with us."

"Honestly? I'm not sure I would want to work with her if she _does _come. Andy…"

"Morrigan is a very skilled mage, and whatever we might think of Flemeth—" Leliana had not been informed that Flemeth was back, and Andate planned on keeping it that way, "We can't argue that Flemeth was powerful. Morrigan studied under her tutelage. She would be a very great asset for this."

"If she doesn't stab us in the back," The bard scowled openly, "Or shoot us with fire, as the case may be."

"You said you trusted my judgment."

"And I do." Leliana scowled even more, "But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

She was going to like how Andate planned on contacting Morrigan even less. From the last time Andate ever saw the witch, Morrigan had gone through the Eluvian mirror to pass into an entirely new dimension with her unborn child. After reading in her spare time for ten years, Andate had figured out which world Morrigan went to, and how she might get there. It involved traversing the Fade, of course, and the spell required at least two other mages—with Anders and his spirit, the spell might be even more solid, but as with any excursion in the Fade, there was always a risk of demons and demonic possessions. _Frankly, Morrigan's disposition is the least of my concerns._

Still, she did not want Leliana to feel she was inconsiderate of her feelings.

"Look," Andate promised her, "I know how to look at people. I know what to look for with Morrigan. She has never been able to hide her intentions from me. Granted, I might not know her exact plans," The situation with the Archdemon had been beyond anything she could have imagined, "But I would know if she's planning something sinister. If I sense something is off, we make do without her. I wouldn't place all of you in jeopardy over her."

The redhead softened. "I know, Andy." She sighed. "You've had to make difficult choices for the rest of us. I'm certainly not going to make things harder for you."

"Thanks, Leliana." Andate kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back."

The first order of business was talking to Fenris, which meant talking to Hawke.

"Sten is a title," Andate explained, "And there are a lot of Stens, so I'm not sure how to identify one Sten among many. He doesn't have horns, but I don't know how helpful that would be."

"You are unlikely to convince the Qunari to send a Sten out for this mission of yours," Fenris said sourly, "Especially if they see no point in it. Unlike humans and elves, their _saarebas_ are leashed and handled by the _arvaarad_, and there are strict protocols on how to manage mages to prevent corruption. The chances of possession among the Qunari are much smaller than in the rest of Thedas. It would be wasteful for them to send a Sten to aid you on a mission that would not benefit them."

"Only from a certain point of view. If I remember correctly, _saarebas _are considered defective tools, correct? Would it not be beneficial for the Qunari society to eliminate the rate of these defective individuals?"

"You are suggesting that we lie," Fenris stated, unimpressed, "And claim that we are seeking to find a cure for mages."

"Not quite a lie, is it?" Andate pointed out. "The Fade is the world of spirits and demons, or just plain demons, if one assumes they are the same. Eliminating those in the Fade might very well bring an end to mages. It is not our goal, certainly, but it might be what will happen, and is quite likely. Even the best scholars will agree."

The elf shifted. "And why would the Qunari believe that a _mage _wants to eliminate magic?"

"They wouldn't, but they would believe a King does." It turned out, word of Alistair's smiting efforts made their way all around the palace, and it would not be long before all of Ferelden heard about it. Some good came out of his impulsiveness after all. "All I need is to know how to reach one particular Sten out of many. Alistair is a templar and he and I had a falling out. The Qunari would not think it a huge stretch if the King of Ferelden wants to eliminate magic. A cure for his dear friend who has lost her marbles, or so he thinks, even if she is the Hero of Ferelden and the slayer of the Archdemon, and it is something, I think, the Qunari would deem as worthy enough to bid a single member of their esteemed society for our expedition. If we fail, they might not even lose him. If we win, the rewards are bountiful. Do you think this will work?"

The elf exhaled. "It…has a better chance than I first expected."

"Can you tell us what we need to do?" Hawke asked.

"If he fought during the Blight," Said the elf, "He will be easy to identify. I can carry the message personally to the Seheron to request aid. It would help if I had a companion who could recognize him."

"I'll send Leliana with you, if that's alright?" Sending Zevran would be disastrous. Oghren would hardly be better. "You two seem to get along better than the others."

"That would be acceptable."

"Listen to you," Hawke seemed to have forgotten that she was supposed to be mad at Fenris for whatever reason, "You do have that Qunari bearing."

Her teasing tones seemed to startle the elf, who looked a little lost. Hawke cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Now I need to talk some sense into Alistair." Andate sighed at this. "That pig-headed lout." She sniffed.

Alistair was contrite enough not to complain too much about writing to Sten, even with all the twists of the truth in it depicting him as somewhat of a mage-hating bigot, but when Andate called in the mages to discuss the spell that would allow her to speak with Morrigan, he reached his limit.

"Now I know you have a death wish."

"Are you serious?" Anders had been saying that a lot lately, "Didn't this man just smite you earlier? You're expecting him to wait at the ready and chop your head off if you get possessed. Really."

"Morrigan is _not _in the Fade," Andate did not know how to explain this, "There happen to be more realms out there, and she's not in the Fade! But I might have to pass through the Fade to get there, and I need Alistair—"

"No, no!" Alistair scowled, "I am not doing this! You can gallop off on your absurd quest without me, but I am _not _going to sit by and watch you get possessed by _Morrigan!_"

"I won't get possessed by Morrigan! She's not a demon—"

"And _you _have a lot of nerve!" The King pointed at Anders, "I don't care if you have the spirit of the _Maker_ hanging around in your body—you were the one that planted this idea in her head, didn't you?"

"Oh that is rich! _I'm _not the one who smote my Grey Warden sister like she's a piece of—"

Andate dropped her head in her hands with a barely audible sigh. Bethany squeezed her shoulder silently as the two men shouted at each other.

"Oh dear," Merrill said beside her cousin, "Well, this is very unpleasant."

"_Enough!_" Hawke shouted over the din, effectively silencing both Anders and Alistair, "If either of you make my cousin start crying again, I'm calling for that Antivan elf!"

Andate raised her head, revealing her dry eyes to everyone. _That was an interesting threat._

"Who the bloody blazes is this Morrigan?" Her cousin went on to demand, "Why do we need a spell cast by four mages in order to send her to the Fade, and why do we need a templar at the ready?"

Once Andate finished summarizing the whole story, leaving out the bit with the Archdemon ritual, she exclaimed, "How about this. I _order _you two to work together on this one and do what I say. Anders will let Alistair stand guard, you send me into the Fade and I'll work my way from there—"

"Oh no, you don't get to do that," Alistair's face was bright red with rage, "You might have been able to pull that off ten years ago, Andy, and you might have pulled that off a few times since, but not on this!"

"I'm not letting this bloody _templar_ stand guard over anyone!" Anders exclaimed.

"I am _King_," Alistair spat back, "But I certainly won't mind using templar skills on this bloody mage-terrorist—"

"Alright," Hawke stepped in again, "We're all done talking for now. Andate needs four mages at least, including herself, and a templar in case something goes wrong—let's all take a deep breath and disperse and talk when tempers are cooled, alright? Anders, you and I need to talk. Merrill, Bethany, let's move out?"

Bethany squeezed Andate's shoulder again, before letting go to follow her sister. Andate made to leave, but a vice-like grip circled her upper arm, holding her in place.

"Look," Alistair said quietly, the flush of his face paling as the others left, "I'm sorry about what I did earlier. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Andate sighed, pulling at her arm, but he held fast.

"Look, we need to talk."

"Alistair, I understand, alright?" She pulled but he still held on. "Let go of me."

"Well you have to promise to hear me out."

"There's nothing to discuss—"

"We have to talk about what happened during the Blight."

Well that was certainly not anything Andate wanted to talk about. "Alistair, let me go. That was ten years ago—"

"And we never talked about it—"

"There's nothing to talk about. It's over. We moved on. You moved on."

Strangely, he smiled.

"I thought you were alright." He still had her in his firm grip. Sometimes Andate was still surprised by how strong he really was, under his boyish grins and gentle personality. "At first, I waited for you to come talk to me—you always approached us first, you know, about these sort of things. When you didn't, and you were still laughing and as gay as ever, I thought you were really alright with it."

_Really?_ Andate felt tears form at an alarming speed. She was frozen by the words, unable to wipe them away as they streamed down her cheeks. _You thought I was alright with it?_ Of course he did. Alistair had always only been able to see the surface. He must have really believed she was perfectly fine, that she had moved past their relationship already. It was probably why he fell for Elissa Cousland so quickly. He must have wanted to, tried to, simply because Andate had already successfully put it all behind her, and it was not hard to love the Queen. She was easily the most charming, respectable woman Andate ever had the privilege of knowing.

"But over the years I realized something was wrong, and there was never really a chance…" Alistair sighed, finally letting her go to run both hands through his hair, "I figured it wasn't my place. Being King makes you hyper-aware of that, you know—what your place is, and how you can do certain things and not others. I had a wife, whom I loved, and eventually I had a son, and it wasn't really appropriate for me to talk to you anymore. But when I didn't talk to you, no one did."

Andate looked away with an effort. She could not reply.

"I can't claim that I regret what happened that day," He told her softly, "It wouldn't be fair to Elissa or Duncan, and wouldn't really be true anyway. But I can promise you that I would have gone with you to the ends of the earth had I any choice. I did love you—much of me still does. You'll always be my first."

She released a breath. "None of this matters." _Being someone's first doesn't matter. _"We're where we are, we're who we are, we live our lives and do what we have to. I'm not angry with you for being who you are and doing what you have to do. It's just how the world works."

"Don't be like that." He sounded very displeased. "I hate it when people become passive-aggressive, and frankly, that doesn't suit you."

"I mean it." It was a little hard to sound convincing when tears were streaming from her eyes and her voice was raspy, but she tried anyway. "I put you on the throne. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, but this is really my fault, not yours. I…I handled it the only way I knew how." By putting on a cheerful facade, in the hopes that perhaps by fooling others she could also fool herself. "It didn't really work but…well, it's all I had. No one has everything."

She raised her hands to wipe at her cheeks, keeping her eyes averted.

The King sighed. "It's not your fault you're a mage, Andy."

She let out a gasping laugh. "No, really?"

"You're a remarkable woman. You deserve more. Stop…stop holding back. You're not being fair to yourself."

She sighed, turning to the door. "I don't look for what I won't find."

This time Alistair did not stop her from leaving.

In the hall, Zevran was waiting for her. Andate felt her stomach plummet, conscious of how she looked, eyes red and cheeks damp.

"Zevran, don't do anything rash."

"Me, rash?" The elf cocked an eyebrow, looking distinctly unamused. "I think you are mistaking me for someone else, _mi cara._"

"It's over, it's done with," She sighed, wishing that people would just get along without her mediation for once, "I'm just a big crybaby today, alright?" She rubbed her temples for a good measure and felt warm hands circle her wrists and gently pull them down.

He was a little shorter than her, but with her head bowed as it was, their foreheads touched perfectly.

"What were you two talking about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," She sighed again, hoping Zevran would not take this the wrong way. For all his careless attitudes, the assassin could be sensitive about rejection. Thankfully, the elf only nodded at this, folding her hands in his. He probably already heard their conversation already, given his abilities.

"It use to be much simpler when people just followed my orders."

"Your orders were a lot more sensible back then."

"Ha! I knew less about what I was doing. Funny how that works, eh?" Andate smiled at him, their heads still touching.

The elf smiled lazily back. "You are beautiful, my fair Warden. Beautiful women should not be sad."

Andate merely closed her eyes at this. She was use to Zevran by now.

After a while, she stepped back, feeling much more like herself again. "Thanks, Zev," She said gratefully, "You're a good friend."

"Not good enough," He said wryly, letting her go.

Andate looked at him awkwardly, before taking leave of him.

Later, in much better spirits, Andate rounded up everyone with the exception of Leliana and Fenris, who had already departed for Seheron on fresh horses. They convened at the King's office, where Alistair sat behind his giant desk, looking imperious.

"I will let you go on this insane expedition of yours," He said to her flatly before anyone else could initiate the discussion, all traces of the concerned ex-lover gone.

_As if you had a choice,_ Andate thought with some annoyance.

"I will also, stand guard while you fetch _Morrigan _from the Fade, but I _won't _execute you if you're an abomination."

Aveline and her husband exchanged worried looks.

"As it happens," Alistair went on, "I remembered this dandy little thing you might have forgotten because so much has happened since then. It's this little thing called an exorcism; something we happened to perform on Arl Teagan's son, if you remember."

_Oh. Conner. _It was amazing that she did forget, considering how studious she had been all these years, but typically abominations were just slaughtered and exorcisms simply were not practical. She had not come across it in all these years._  
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"That would require a lot more mages than we have with us," Bethany protested, obviously familiar with the procedure as well.

"Which is why I've sent some men to the Circle ordering them to dispatch a few mages for my disposal. Last I recall, they had ten mages perform the exorcism to send an eleventh into the Fade, so I'm ordering fifteen mages, which should be more than enough for the ritual when combined with the mages we already have here. Since you sent that elf to the Qunari and have to wait for him anyway, we'll hang around for the Circle of Magi to arrive in Denerim. Good? Good."

He looked incredibly dissatisfied with the plan, and with everyone in the room, so Andate agreed to the terms with no fuss.

"He's so pushy," Anders huffed when they left the office, "Just because he's King he thinks he can—"

"Anders," Andate snapped, "You have no right to complain whatsoever. For your information, Alistair could have you locked in the dungeons for what you did in Kirkwall. Know your place."

Anders, admittedly, had never been the sort of person to know his place in life.

"You don't understand—"

"No, _you _don't understand," Andate folded her arms to look at him, "You don't understand just how much it costs people around you to treat you as well as they do, knowing what you've done. I know your reasons for doing what you did, and frankly, the situation today is a long time coming, but you need to accept that you've painted yourself as a cowardly terrorist and take those repercussions with good grace. Alistair is a King. He doesn't have the luxury of seeing all sides of a problem, Anders. He has to view things as a leader, as a protector of a very large group of people, and as such he can't forgive actions that disrupt peace and order in a community. To do so would mean failing as a King. Maybe if he were just another Grey Warden, maybe if he were just a man, he can be convinced to see your side, but when you are a ruler of an entire kingdom, you don't have the privilege of being so wise. You have a duty, you are responsible for many lives, and for supporting your kingdom unconditionally."

"And if he decides to turn on you?" Anders scowled, "He certainly smote you without hesitation."

"He won't turn on me if I don't give him reason to," She replied coldly, "And I wouldn't be much of a friend if I do. Instead of blaming everything on other people's flaws, I suggest you take a look at yourself and see if you brought their disgust and suspicion on yourself. Quite frankly, I trust Alistair at my back more than I'd ever trust _you_. You both left, but at least _he _didn't have a choice."

She walked away from the healer without turning back.


	9. Chapter 9

Andate, Andarta

9.

As an Orlesian bard, Leliana had the skills necessary for the sort of political intrigue the King wanted, but she had limited Ferelden contacts, so it was just as well that she left for Seheron with Fenris. Isabela took up the underground network instead, dragging Andarta to the Pearl to see if there were any familiar faces left at her frequent haunts. Zevran Arainai went with them, while Varric went with Oghren to the Gnawed Noble Tavern to see if the former dwarf could set up any connections with his storytelling.

"It's always the places that are all hush-hush that's best for starting gossip," Isabela adjusted her shirt to express her bosom to full advantage. Zevran whistled, not even trying to hide his appreciation. Andarta was just irritated with them both. She wanted to go to the Gnawed Noble Tavern instead, but it was impossible to sway these two when they were together.

"Starting things from bottom up works just as well as from top down," Zevran's teeth glinted as he smirked, "In more than one setting."

Like all brothels, the Pearl was furnished to imitate luxurious quarters even though everything was made of cheap material. Prostitutes strutted about in fake jewelry and imitations of silk and satin, sprayed with the gut-twisting fragrance of low-quality perfumes. Their eyes were hollow and lacked vitality, even as they plastered on bright sultry smiles. One man complimented Andarta and asked if she would "like to have a good time". Andarta gently turned him down.

"Just like your cousin," Zevran tsked, "She didn't know how to enjoy herself either. Does everyone in your family have this grudge against the pleasures of life?"

"Everyone is different," Andarta replied neutrally.

Someone suddenly caught the pirate's eye, and she swaggered over, calling out a name Andarta did not quite catch.

"Isabela!" A gruffy-looking man exclaimed, "Fancy seeing you here, girl! It's been too long!"

"Aye, it has," Isabela folded her arms, "I see you haven't changed at all from the filthy scumbag I met eleven years ago."

"And you haven't changed at all from the cheating harlot _I _met eleven years ago!" There was something like affection in the man's eyes as he spoke. He was a large man, tall and buff, with a bushy brown beard and shaggy hair. His face was fierce and unapproachable, and his smile was more of a grimace, revealing missing and rotten teeth. He turned his sneering eyes on to look at Andarta. "Ah, here's a fair one. You don't look the type to frequent these sort of places, honey."

Andarta raised an eyebrow, "That's the point."

He laughed out loud, mouth wide open, the smell of alcohol emitting in puffs, "Ah, I like you. And you have a familiar look about you…" He stared at Zevran, who only smiled carelessly back. "What brought you back to Ferelden, woman?" He asked Isabela, "Thought you don't go to the same place more than once."

"Exciting times are coming, haven't you heard? The show is in Ferelden."

"Eh?"

"You know the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Aye, started some upheaval up in the Free Marches, last I heard…" The two quickly fell into conversation, with Isabela sliding into the chair next to the man.

"Looks like it's just you and me," Zevran murmured to Andarta. He took her hand and led her away to allow Isabela some space. "Ah! There's a face I knew well during my last stay here."

"Alright," Said Andarta, deciding that going to brothels to look for someone was a lot better than going to brothels to see what happens next, "I'm going to go to the tavern to make sure Varric didn't get kicked out and barred from the other network branch of Denerim. You two try to focus and not get carried away too much."

"Tsk," Zevran sighed, "It must be in the blood. I was never able to enlighten Andate either."

"From accounts, she's learned enough."

His face twisted at this. Any mention of the King brought something of a scowl on his face. It was curious, simply because Andarta had expected a better relationship between the two men, given they had fought side-by-side during the Blight and remained in contact for the past ten years. Then again, she could say the same for Anders and Fenris, and those two had yet to get over their rivalry.

"That is not my place to say," He said, before smoothing his expression, "But very well; the Pearl is no place for someone who is less than comfortable with the company. I shall see you at the palace, then?"

"Of course."

Varric's charisma was completely unaffected by Oghren's lack thereof, and when Andarta joined them at the tavern, there was a large crowd already gathered, listening to Varric talk about the army of templars that just showed up at Vigil's Keep, for once not exaggerating.

"Then the Warden-Commander exclaimed, 'I give you one last chance. You're on Warden grounds without invitation. Back off, or we'll talk with swords!' And the Knight-Commander shot back, 'You're a mage! You can't wield a sword!'" This was met with raucous laughter.

Hawke ordered a tankard of ale to justify sitting there listening and making sure Varric never let slip that she was actually in Vigil's Keep, since the point was to make others believe the Chantry sent templars to invade Ferelden without cause.

"I have to say," Varric lowered his voice so it sounded sly, "Warden-Commander Amell is one scary lass. She's all sweet and bright and easy-going, but you trespass Ferelden, and you invade her compound, that's no more nice-lady for ya. Plus, mage or not, she _could _wield a sword—there was one hanging right off her belt. Once the templars finished sneering, it's no more words—the discussion is _over_. She whipped out her sword so it caught the sun, and _whoosh!_ Brought it down in front of her. 'Wardens, charge!' She commanded, and behind her all of the Grey Wardens surged against the templars, felling the front lines as easy as crushing ants under your boot. Then, _bam bam bam!_ Three magic spells, one right after the other, and the templars didn't even get a chance to think, 'maybe I should perform holy smite?' And they were down. The Warden-Commander then leaped into the air, soaring like a messenger from the skies, and she swung her sword down and dove into battle without her armor or helmet. Once she landed, ten templars were cut down instantly by her sword," Varric made some stabbing and slicing motions with his hand, "And _bam_, another spell sent down five more."

"What were _you_ doing? Just watching?"

"Of course. I've never seen the like. Have you ever seen the Warden-Commander fight? You'd be standing there like an idiot too. Of course, I quickly gathered my wits, and we entered the fold and all I could hear were the sounds of swords clanging and more spells, some from the Warden-Commander, some from the other Grey Wardens. Those templars are babies, I tell ya—must be the skirts, made them all like wusses, but there were still a lot of them, and only a few Ferelden Grey Wardens, so things quickly began looking dire. At long last, one of them Free Marches punks finally got a smote in and the Warden-Commander went down. Them smites, makes me glad I'm a dwarf and won't ever touch magic, but apparently it's like all the worst hangovers you've ever had in your life all at once, and then some. She's got her sword, but that's not useful if her head's in a doozy. He stood over her and said, 'I'll enjoy taking you home with me, hehe, Ferelden witch!' And it was bloody clear what he wanted to do with her once he did."

One audience member swore. "Curse those bloody templars! They think they can push us Fereldens around! She kicked his butt didn't she?"

"Haha, but she didn't have to. Right then, with the commander down and the Grey Wardens overwhelmed by the templars, we heard a distant bugle."

"The Teyrn?"

"The Teyrn and the King! You know the King was a Grey Warden too, right? They came running up to the keep on their horses, both looking right mad, and then they pulled up short."

"Why?" The men demanded. "Why'd they stop?"

"Because there's a freaking army of templars where they're not supposed to be, that's why!"

Andarta smothered a chuckle. Varric was keeping her name out of this story, and it was interesting to see how he wove the story of the Warden. She looked around the tavern for Oghren, and found him passed out in the corner of the room.

"So that's why the King left Denerim all of the sudden!"

"Aye, I heard that one, confused all of them nobles who were stranded here."

There were several more exclamations and swearing, before Varric continued with his story. Andarta paid for her drink before slipping away from the tavern to head back to the palace.

Things over there, ironically, were not going as well as outside.

"They sure argue a lot!" Merrill chirped, "And then they stop talking to each other. Fereldens sure do things differently from Kirkwall!"

"What now?" Andarta wondered. "What were they arguing about this time?"

"Anders," The Dalish elf hopped a little on the balls of her feet, "It started off with Anders and the King. Then the Warden intervened and they started shouting at each other."

_Oh Maker…_

Amell was making potions.

"I yell at Alistair all the time," Her cousin told Andarta when she joined her, "It's nothing new. Just because he's King doesn't mean I lose my yelling rights. As long as I don't yell at him in court, everything is fair. He knows I'm in the right and he's in the wrong. Anders might have killed innocents with his stunts in Kirkwall, but as Zevran would say, no one is really innocent, and besides, what's done is done. If Anders didn't do this, someone else might, and whatever he might like to think, Anders is my brother twice over."

"Are we going to have a problem with him around? I know it's not exactly comfortable having him in the group."

"Well I've stood by worse people than Anders," She did look like a witch, Andarta mused, standing over her bubbling cauldron and tossing in herbs while stirring. The room smelled pleasant, like crushed leaves and mints. "Zevran is a professional assassin, Leliana was an Orlesian bard, though she gave up that way of life. Mostly. Staying with an abomination and a blood mage is a bit different, but Alistair is use to the company I keep."

"What were you two arguing about?"

"Anders doesn't like Alistair, thinks he's a prissy royal bastard, despite my allegations that he wasn't," Amell adjusted the flame, "And even though I'm over it, he's upset about the smiting incident. Which isn't helpful, given that Alistair's already sorry about it, but you know how men are. When their pride is wounded they lash out in the most unreasonable ways. We exchanged a few pointed words, but it should die down. King or not, Alistair has never been able to undo me."

_He already has,_ Andarta thought solemnly, watching the graceful creature stir her cauldron several more times before covering the lid to let it simmer.

"You and the King have a special bond," She said solemnly, "I don't want to get in the way of that, nor do I want my people to get in the way of that."

"Please," Amell smiled lightly at her, "If you think some strangers could dissolve our relationship just like that, why, maybe we don't have such a special bond after all, hm?"

Andarta had to concede to that. "I can have a talk with Anders. On the matter of mages he's inflexible, but maybe I can convince him to hold his tongue a bit more."

"Good luck with that," Her cousin snorted, "It's not so much that he's stubborn, it's that he's feeling conflicted too. He made a big decision, and it had big consequences. You'd expect him to come to terms with them when he made the choice in the first place, but people don't work like that. We doubt ourselves, we doubt ourselves some more, and with little things we can just brush them off and look toward tomorrow, but when you perform an act like Anders, killing many innocents and drawing negative attention, you can't brush it off anymore. He's trying to convince himself much more than he cares to convince anyone else. Merrill has more confidence in her blood magic than Anders has in his ends-justify-the-means philosophy."

"You're right." Andarta nodded. "Well, perhaps you should be the one to talk to him."

"I can't," Amell shook her head, "This is something he has to work out on his own. The only thing I can say is whether I believe he's in the right, and I don't. I don't think he's wrong either. I think he did the only thing he could have done given the circumstances he was in, and the outcome isn't something that was good for everyone. I think he is, at heart, a good man, but he's not trying to win _my _approval—he's trying to win his own. Neither of us can help with that. Only he can help himself."

Andarta sighed.

"Besides, he likes you better than me," She laughed at this, "I was only able to keep him for about a year. He's changed a lot though—back then he was more carefree. Justice did a number on him. You might want to see to that, actually. He's gotten far more obsessed over the mage issue than he ever was when I knew him—back then he was more…selfish, content to let others languish as long as he got what he wanted. I suspect it's because Justice is wearing him out. You cared enough about him to spare his life in Kirkwall, and he seems to appreciate you, so you might want to look into curbing _Justice _instead of _Anders._"

That was an interesting point. Andarta knew from the start that her cousin had a keen perception of people, but she was beginning to realize that Amell's insight might be even deeper than she realized.

"Why don't you talk to him? He knows you too, and you hail from the same circle."

"You overestimate my influence," Amell laughed, "I'm too young, I think. I'm a good eight years younger than him. In terms of advice, he's never taken me seriously. I told him time and again what I felt about Kirkwall, and he's still upset. He just doesn't respect me as much."

It was hard to imagine anyone who did not respect the commander when Andarta respected her so much herself, but she nodded at this, understanding that as much as Amell knew people, she also knew when to keep her mouth shut and let others do the talking. It was an ability that required a lot of wisdom to obtain.

"What I _am _worried about is your Tevinter elf," The Warden went on, "He sticks around solely for your sake, you know? At least that is the impression I got."

"It is the impression all of us have too. I was surprised he came along…I guess it's because the fate of mages at the Gallows reminded him too much of slavery. Does he bother you?"

"A little," Amell admitted, "I think I made a bad first impression and it will take a lot of hard work for me to correct that. I'd do it, but," She rubbed her face, "It's harder to satisfy one person when you have a dozen others."

"Tell me about it," Andarta finally decided to sit down. The cauldron was releasing steam. Amell took a spoon and wedged it under the lid so it would not boil over. "To this day, I wonder how I managed to get this lot to work together ten years ago."

"How did you meet your folks?"

Andarta was telling her about the Deep Roads expedition when the prince wandered in.

"Aunt Andy," He waddled to the cauldron, "What are you making?"

"Potions, sweetheart," Amell stirred the contents, "It's for the quest we're embarking on soon."

"You're leaving again?" The boy pouted.

"Trust me, your father is doing his best to delay that." Amell ruffled the boy's hair. "Finished with your lessons for the day?"

"Uh-huh." The prince then looked at Andarta. "You two look alike."

"We're related, don't you remember?"

"Ohhhhhhhh," The prince grinned. He sat down on a stool. "Father is talking with Uncle Fergus."

"Hm?"

"He said people are calling for court on the templ'rs that snuck here."

"Here?" Amell abruptly froze. "As in the palace?"

"No, where Father went to save you."

"Oh that. Wait," She looked at Andarta, "That fast?"

"It can't be Isabela," Andarta shook her head, "We haven't even gotten to peak business hours. It's got to be Varric. Who knew, he inserts himself in an entirely new environment and still manages to be the voice of rumors."

"I think I like your dwarf. Ah, this potion's about ready, I just need to let it cool. Duncan, would you be a darling and help me set up the flasks? Those over there, that's right." Andarta smiled at how casually her cousin employed the help of the five-year-old. She stood up to help the child as Amell stirred the pot.

"I guess we'll be hearing from the Chantry soon enough."

"Sooner than I expected," Amell employed a mild wind spell to cool the brew, "We'll leave Alistair to handle that. This does bring to question how Nathaniel is doing. I've been waiting for a letter from him all day, I figure that now is about the time he should have received some kind of order from the First Warden and wrote to me, but so far there is nothing."

"Give it time. I'm sure we'll hear something tomorrow."

Tomorrow brought many somethings, not the least of which was a letter from Warden Howe. Amell read it to everyone the next morning during breakfast.

"'The First Warden has given us orders to keep the templars under lock and key until further notice. Apparently the Chantry's Grand Cleric is going at odds with him over this and he wants to prove who is in charge in this case. I will keep you updated on the proceedings, though I expect in Denerim you would likely get news of their discharge sooner than my missives. I will have you know that I have seen the wisdom in weaning the templars off their lyrium—they are all barking mad right now and it is driving our fellow wardens crazy, in particular the mages who have to check on their aches and pains.' Ha! Good old Nathaniel! And the First Warden is standing his ground! 'The First Warden also warns you against doing anything foolish.' Ahem, well that was not as exciting. 'Please run any lunatic plans you have by the King and the other wardens first, especially if they consist of you setting off to do something that can get you killed.'"

Andarta could not help it; she snorted. This earned her a mild glower from her cousin.

"Insubordinate," She muttered, before reading on, "'The First Warden has instructed me to quote…' What is all this? That's it, I won't read it here."

The King, obviously unperturbed about making her angry again the previous day, snatched the letter from her.

"'The First Warden has instructed me to quote, word for word, "You have no semblance of self-preservation, a fact that has served this Order well but has given me no rest from the constant headache of wondering if I will see you in Weisshaupt the following year. Please keep in mind that a warden's lifespan is…"' Ahem, that's a warden secret, and '"And at least try to make an attempt to live out this maximum lifespan—I assure you it is hard enough to do so even without your constant attempts to try to get yourself killed. Also please tell our Warden-King to keep his nose out of this business with the Chantry if he knows what is good for himself, and also, if you can, request a donation of…"' What? He wants money?"

"Give me that!" Amell finally managed to snatch the letter back, "Of course he wants money. The Grey Wardens aren't exactly selected for their talents in business, mind you."

The King snatched the letter again. "Well, at least the First Warden knows you as well as he says he does! 'And tell the King that while you are in Denerim he is to watch out for your sorry end or else you will get me tossed into jail for trying to kick the King's ass.'" There was a pregnant pause. "Well, consider me told."

"Really, Anders?" Varric looked sideways at the mage, "You left the wardens? They seem like your type."

"The First Warden must be very familiar with her," Bethany observed to Andarta.

"I see a running theme here," The Queen noted as she looked at Amell with a mix of humor and reprimand. Her brother hummed in agreement, though he was focused on taking care of his nephew.

"This is so unfair," Amell protested, "His letter makes me sound like I'm suicidal. I'm not! For crying out loud, we have an _actual suicidal _warden, and she happens to be a lot shorter than me and have tattoos all over her face. Don't base your conclusions on anything Nathaniel said there."

"Hm," Said the King with a scrutinizing look. He opened his own missives. "This one's from the Empress of Orlais." He read over the letter. "She wants to extend an offer of alliance in case we experience anything like what's happening in the Free Marches. What do you think, Fergus? Elissa?"

"Give her an answer that's neither yes nor no," Said the Queen, "I don't want to solidify sides just yet. She'd be siding with the Chantry, I assume."

The King was opening a second letter. "Of course. It's Orlais. They—oh, interesting."

"Hm?"

"Tevinter," King Alistair waved the parchment.

"Tevinter?" Amell started giggling, "Wait, seriously? Do they even have a leader there?"

"Some Head Magistrate…something." The King was looking at the envelope, "This handwriting is atrocious. I'll read that last. Here's one, oh. Nevarra's Circle has been annulled."

Just like that, the mood at the table dimmed.

"Well," Amell said practically, "We can't expect only templars to suffer casualties in what is happening."

Andarta glanced sideways at Anders, expecting some sort of outburst as usual, but the mage was quiet, his face dark and lips pressed in a thin line.

"No survivors," The King sighed, "The Free Marches is really crumbling." He picked up the letter from Tevinter again. "I guess I'll squint at this one first and get it over with." He was silent as he concentrated. "Tevinter wishes to ally with Ferelden."

Andarta was _very _glad Fenris was not here.

"Not surprising," Amell ate a mouthful of egg, "We're the most liberal about mages besides them. Not that Tevinter is all that liberal in general, but they might see our mage-friendliness as an advantage, and if we sandwich the rest of Thedas, this could fuel future efforts to conquer everyone again."

"Their Ferelden is really bad, I can hardly understand the grammar," The King went on, "Of course, these people never state their motivations, it's just 'Oh we're really concerned because the rest of Thedas is going crazy and we know that Ferelden looks more favorably upon mages than most, Chantry might give us trouble…oh interesting, he claims that Rivain has already allied with them."

"What?" Isabela's fork clattered.

"It's Tevinter," The Teyrn grabbed the pitcher of lemonade to pour for Duncan, "They lie, or at least exaggerate things." He said this like he was use to it.

Fenris would probably agree, Andarta mused.

"Rivain is second to Ferelden in terms of their view on mages," Said the Queen, "And they are closer to both Tevinter and Seheron. Seheron is, of course, very conservative about mages, and also made up of Qunari who apparently are on an unending mission to convert all of Thedas to the Qun. Still, it is hard to imagine they would resort to Tevinter instead. At least the Qunari have a code of honor."

"More letters inquiring about Vigil's Keep," Her husband scowled as he read one letter. "Who got this idea that they invaded Highever?"

"Heh," Varric chuckled.

The King glared at him for a moment before shrugging. "Word of mouth always gets away from us. Better that they follow this line of thought than the other. Here's one asking about the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Ignore it. Palace rumors can only place her in Denerim. Has nothing to do with Vigil's Keep." Amell swallowed. "Besides, the Chantry already hates us."

"And I'm incredibly alright with that." Alistair gathered his letters. "Amazing what the crown does to a person."

A servant suddenly came into the dining hall.

"Your Majesties," He bowed to the royal couple, "Keeper Lanaya of the Dalish clan requests an audience."

A silence fell. Andarta glanced quickly at Merrill, who had not yet time to express any emotion toward this news.

"Lanaya!" Amell wiped her mouth with a grin, "I wonder what the Dalish want!"

"I spend most of my breakfast reading letters and then just when I want to begin eating in earnest, she comes along?" The King exclaimed, "This is not happening! Tell her I'm eating and she's to join me, along with anyone else she brought with her, but there is to be no discussing anything important until I finish."

"Yes, sire."

"Really, Alistair," Said the Queen, "I understand your Grey Warden abilities often make you hungry, but this is rather improper."

"Lanaya is a friend. She's probably hungry too, and court doesn't start for an hour." With that, her husband began wolfing down his breakfast in earnest.

Andarta glanced over at Anders, who was only sliding the food around his plate, looking dejected. It was alarming how quiet he had gotten, and there were shadows under his eyes, as if he had not slept. Concerned, she made a mental note to check with him when they were alone.

Zevran Arainai stretched. "Ah, the keeper. Lovely creature, she. You'd enjoy her," He said to Isabela.

"You did her?" The pirate asked.

"No he didn't," Amell interjected, "But he tried his hardest. It's times like these when his evilness shows. You enjoy making her blush."

"You enjoy that too."

"As a spectator," The Warden laughed, as the servant came back to announce the arrival of the elves. "And only because she can hand your rear end to you if you really provoke her enough."

"I will not dignify that with a response," The Antivan elf huffed with mock indignation.

Anders was truly looking ill, so Andarta excused herself briefly to go talk to Anders out in the hall, where it was more private.

"Do you want to talk?" She asked, feeling a bit at a loss. Usually her companions just spewed things to her and she had the luxury of waiting for them to be ready, but she was not entirely sure how to actually dig things out of them. "Did the King say something."

"No," His face twisted in disgust, but then he grew morose. "Yes. It—never mind, it's not important."

This was probably Aveline's handiwork.

"Anders, are you doubting yourself? About what happened in Kirkwall?"

He looked away, much like a disappointed child. Andarta ran her fingers through her hair.

"Anders, you told me time and again, even before I knew what was going on, that if there were any other way you would have done that instead. Were you lying?"

"No!" He exclaimed, looking hurt. "I never lied to you, except that one time when I asked you to go collect ingredients and then go to the Chantry for me to distract—but I never lied to you before. Ever."

"So you tried to consider all alternatives?"

"Yes," He said vehemently, almost spitting. There was a light in his eyes, like Vengeance was about to take control.

Andarta had never been afraid of Vengeance. She grabbed the mage's face between her hands and dug her fingers into his skin to emphasize her point.

"Then you have no regrets, understand?" She looked into his eyes, "The King can't possibly understand, nor can anyone else. You keep your mouth shut about this because they never will, no matter how you explain it, but know this _yourself—_there is nothing else you could have done, short of sitting back and doing nothing. And that isn't a choice for you."

He stared at her, the light of Justice fading, but there was still doubt in his eyes and self-loathing. He nodded, but he did not quite hear her. Amell had been right. The issue is too profound for mere pep-talk to suffice. She sighed.

"Whatever you are thinking, Anders," She told him quietly, "Know that I stand by you, and so does Andate. You should listen to her. I know you don't respect her that much because she's so much younger than you, but you really should listen to what she says. She's usually right."

He smiled goofily at her. "She likes to think so, anyway."

Andarta released him, rolling her eyes. _What did I say about her usually being right? It looks like she is right yet again…_ "Get back in there," She ordered, "We have to meet the Keeper, and I need to make sure none of the elves slaughter Merrill."

_Maker,_ She thought as she dragged Anders back into the dining hall, _It's like running a bloody circus…_


	10. Chapter 10

Andate, Andarta

10.

Ten years was enough time for all of them to grow; they had all started off as little more than children during the Blight, but just as Andate flourished in her role, Lanaya had become a woman fitting for her station as Keeper. Her bone structure had filled out and she lost some of the childish plumpness she had when they first met her, making her look more womanly, with elegant beauty. Her eyes also gleamed with an older light as responsibility took its toll on her, and where before she had been student and follower, now she moved with all the mannerisms of leader and teacher. She had become more confident and assertive, losing her timidity and uncertainty. She and Andate respected each other greatly, but more than that, they were very good friends. Andate had visited the Dalish camps in the south before, and Lanaya had likewise visited Vigil's Keep.

The Keeper was as hungry as Alistair expected, and was delighted to join them for breakfast. After greeting the King and Queen politely, exchanging a kiss on each cheek with Andate, and introducing her Dalish companions to Hawke's, they ate breakfast with Merrill chattering animatedly with the elves. There was no serious talk, which was fortunate because the reason for Lanaya's visit did not do well for one's appetite.

"I bring this from _asha'belannar,_" Said the Keeper, handing Andate an amulet. "She said you would know what to do with it."

Andate exchanged a look with her cousin. Merrill let out a gasp.

"That name sounds ominously familiar," Said Alistair.

"It's Flemeth," Said the Warden, "She just told you to give this to me?"

"Yes." Lanaya folded her hands. "She did also mention that it is the only way to find the one you seek."

"Like mother, like daughter," Andate flashed Alistair a smile. He was looking faintly ill. "Should have known that we would be seeing Flemeth whenever Morrigan is brought up. How does she look, Lanaya?"

"…Pardon?"

"The _asha'belannar_," Andate clarified, "Angry? Annoyed? Smug?"

"I am not sure," The Keeper said honestly, "I dared not look her in the eye."

Andate never had trouble looking anyone in the eye unless she cared about them, but then she had the raw power to back up that kind of audacity. "Interesting."

"This is bad." Alistair snatched the amulet from her, and Andate repressed the swell of irritation that followed. "She can't possibly be alright with you, and all of the sudden she wants to help you? There's something else going on."

"The last time I saw that amulet," Hawke spoke up, "Merrill summoned her from it. She said that she stored a piece of herself in it, in case something…happened. Presumably when you killed her."

Lanaya looked stricken by this. Over the years, no one had told the Keeper about Flemeth—it was simply never brought up.

Andate slapped Alistair's wrist and grabbed the amulet back. She was going to have a word with him about snatching things from her without asking first. Closing her eyes, she focused. It was a magical item, but nothing so substantial as a piece of a person, or whatever entity Flemeth was supposed to be.

"Flemeth knows," She said, "Ten years is a long time for a mage to grow in power, and I was strong to begin with. She's old, and she might do away with me if she tried hard enough, but such ancient beings normally don't like the hassle. And besides, she needs me, for some reason." She looked at her cousin. "Perhaps because of what Andarta and I can do together. You were never afraid of her either, were you? Not even when you saw she was a High Dragon."

"I think I was too dumb to be afraid," Hawke answered.

"That too." Andate tucked the amulet back so Alistair could not take it again. "Beings like Flemeth," She told Lanaya, "Have their own agendas. It is useless to be afraid of them because it doesn't prepare you, or protect you. You have to face them and assert your own position, or else they will walk over you."

"Beings like Andate also have a death wish," Alistair broke in dryly, "And can afford to stand up to bloody hags that morph into high dragons because they're not too keen on staying alive."

Andate glared at him. She really had not appreciated his blasé attitude toward Nathaniel's letter; frankly she was embarrassed by how foolhardy he made her appear in front of Hawke's companions. She did not want a reputation for being reckless. "You really shouldn't crack jokes when you don't understand the matter at hand, Your Majesty."

He shut his mouth. When Andate resorted to referring to him by his title, he usually knew he had made her angry.

Fergus, who had been silent all this time, asked, "What do you intend to do with it, Andy?"

Andate tightened her hold over the amulet and focused on it again. This time, instead of simply identifying the amulet's magic, she willed it to work.

The world abruptly pulled away, and she was in a place not unlike the Fade, but it felt lighter, less blurry, her movements free of the weight of dreams. She was standing in what looked like a grand palace, the floors and walls made of smooth marble and covered with tapestries. It was empty, however, punctuating the sheer vastness of the place, the high ceilings and the open halls that stretched to merge with the maze of other corridors.

_"Ah,"_ Said the familiar voice, _"And here we are again."_

Andate turned to behold a beautiful young woman, hair as black as night and eyes like Morrigan's, and whose looks did not match her voice at all. She was actually more beautiful than her adopted daughter, equally slender and fierce, but with a sweeter face that belonged to a far less cynical person. She was clad in robes like Morrigan's, but there was more grey and white woven with the black, and on her hair streamed loose behind her, almost to her knees, while a headdress balanced on top, two horns pointing to the back.

_"You certainly know how to use your amulets,"_ Andate noted, _"First you summon yourself from one, then you summon another into it."_

Flemeth chuckled. _"I see you have met your cousin. Another unique soul in a world of fools. Pity that your lives are so entwined with the rest—you both would do better to be free of such hindrances…but I suppose one's company is based more on fortune than choice."_

Andate looked around for a moment before glancing back at her. Obviously, Flemeth did not seem to think much about Andate's attempt to kill her, and the Warden was definitely not about to bring it up herself. The witch did not look upset at all, as Andate had expected, but still, the Warden was wary. On occasion, entities like Flemeth could be petty without mortals ever realizing it.

_"You mean to tell me something,"_ The Warden-Commander prompted.

Flemeth gave her a penetrating look. _"I know the quest you mean to embark on. It is no easy feat. You mean to wage war upon an entire realm and that, my child, is not something a mere mortal can accomplish. Even if you gather allies, summon my daughter and her child, you will hardly put a dent in those who walk the Fade."_

The Warden scrutinized her. _"How did you know what my intentions were?"_

The _asha'belannar _chuckled. _"The wise never tell, but you know that, for you have your own wisdom, do you not? You see things that your companions do not comprehend, you perceive at a glance what others take years to learn. Those like you understand at a deeper level than your brethren. You know how I could predict your mind, for you have constantly predicted mine the very same way."_

Andate folded her hands in front of her. _"I would not be so audacious as to claim such a thing, Flemeth."_

_"Another wise act."_ Flemeth nodded approvingly. _"I have brought you here to grant you and your cousin a gift, one which will ensure you succeed in your task."_

_"Gifts are seldom free,"_ Andate pointed out, _"And you have little reason to help a petty mortal like me."_

_"Petty mortals are often underestimated,"_ The witch replied, _"And you are not quite like others, fair one. All realms are connected, and what transpires in each affects the rest. It was why I helped you with the Blight, it was why I saved your cousin from the same, and it is why I help you now."_

_"What would my success accomplish for you?"_

_"That is mine to keep, Grey Warden. Know only that your success itself will be my boon."_ Flemeth looked at her pointedly. _"Do you accept?"_

_"What is it that I am accepting?"_

Andate had no idea what part of her robes Flemeth drew the mirror from, but it seemed to come from somewhere within the folds of scant cloth. It was a handheld mirror, with a silvery-white handle and a frame as wide as her own face, shaped in an oval. As far as mirrors went, it was rather plain and simple, but even from where she stood, Andate could feel its power.

_"You are both mage and Grey Warden,"_ Said Flemeth, _"This item will not help you, but your sister-cousin is a ripe vessel. I give this to her through you. Shine upon the demons with the glass, and it will show them their maker."_

With a jolt, Andate came back and saw the ceiling of the dining hall. She was on Alistair's lap, and the King was frantically trying to smite her. It worked.

_"Ughglgh!_" She groaned out, "What did you do that for?"

Alistair heaved a sigh of relief. "Good, it stopped."

She heard murmur_s _of concern as she slowly sat up. When did she fall to the floor? How long was she out? _Don't think whatever it was stopped because of the smite._ If anything, she wagered the smite worked because it stopped. _Ugh, hate smites!_

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked.

She felt fine, if disoriented by the sudden switches in scenery and Alistair's rather brutal smite. She was going to have to have a few words with him about how liberally he kept using that skill on her recently.

"Warden?" Zevran called, at Alistair's other side.

"I'm fine," Andate grimaced, "How long was I out?"

"You just fell to the floor," Said Isabela, "Couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes."

"What happened?" Lanaya asked. "You look a bit pale."

"Get some water for her," Hawke ordered Bethany.

"I'm fine," Andate said again, "I…" How was she going to explain this? She glanced at herself. No mirror. _Hm…_

Hawke gasped when the Warden-Commander reached out to touch her hand. She flinched back, blinking warily.

"What did you just do to me?" Her cousin demanded.

"_Shine upon the demons with the glass, and it will show them their maker_…" Andate frowned.

"What does that mean?" Alistair asked. "Andate, what did that witch's amulet do to you?"

"Flemeth gave me something to help," Said Andate, frowning deeper. "She gave me a looking-glass, but said she will give it to Andarta through me…do you feel anything?"

"I felt a sudden jolt," Said Hawke, "But beyond that, I feel nothing unusual now."

"Huh," Merrill blinked her large eyes, "So is the looking-glass _in _Hawke now, or something?"

Varric considered Hawke. "I _really _hope not, Daisy," He said, "Because if abominations are anything to go by, harboring _anything _other than yourself in your body is bad news."

Anders inadvertently revealed his true loyalties when he checked Hawke first before checking Andate, even though the Warden was the one who had just fainted. "They're both fine, as far as I know. I don't sense anything wrong with Hawke."

Alistair was holding Andate by the arms. She shrugged from his grip with a light scowl.

"What happened?" Zevran asked.

Andate told them.

"This amulet is going straight to oblivion," Alistair said before she even finished, "I'm going to hammer this thing to pieces. And you," He glared at the troubled Lanaya, "What made you think giving her this amulet was a good idea?"

"Leave her alone, Alistair," Andate was losing her temper again—why was the King so good at making her do that? "We're all none the worse for wear and despite transparency, Lanaya is not aware of everything we are. I suspect there are things about this Flemeth that she knows and we don't as well." She blinked then. "The amulet." She lifted the item to consider it. "I know what is going on."

Hawke took the amulet warily, but felt nothing until she actually put it on. Anders checked her over anxiously.

"It's definitely bonding with her," Said Andate, keeping track of the magic. "I don't actually sense it hurting her, however."

"I don't either," Anders agreed.

"Are you sure you want your cousin _wearing _that thing?" Alistair asked.

"Flemeth wouldn't lie to me," Said Andate, "She knows I can tell when she's lying, and there is no need."

"I think you're being overconfident."

"I agree," Said Zevran, with a dirty look at Alistair, "But the fair Warden is usually right, even so."

Elissa, who had been quiet the entire time, gestured to Fergus to help Andate stand, since she was still feeling woozy from the smite. Duncan, who had been standing uncertainly outside the crowd, ran forward to hug the warden when she stood.

"You're alright now, Aunt Andy?"

"Yes, I'm fine, your father is a little too enthusiastic with his templar abilities."

"You weren't waking up!" Alistair protested. "And the amulet's magic was _inside _you. I was afraid you were getting possessed!" His voice was high and squeaky in the end.

"Ugh," Andate did not have it in her to be angry at him. "I'll be alright, I just need some rest."

"I'll take her upstairs," Said the teyrn, lifting her without much warning.

"I can walk." _With a lot of help. _This was ignored.

"She's really pale," Hawke said with concern, "Anders, will you come with us?" She and Bethany moved to her side.

"Sure," Said the healer, following them.

It had been some time since she was carried. The last time was by Nathaniel, long long ago. It was a bit of an unnerving experience, because a man's arms did not really make for the best support, and she was obliged to hold tight and brace herself to prevent sagging to the floor. Still, the teyrn carried her like she weighed nothing. Elissa's brother was a strong fellow.

"Which room is she in? She's in the normal one, right?" Fergus asked Hawke.

"I forget which is her normal one; it's been a while, but over here," Anders directed. "Seriously, Andy, how do you put up with all the smiting?"

"I don't," Andy moaned, "I throw a fit every time, don't you remember last time?"

Fergus laid her down on the bed with the gentle care he used with everything. "Why don't you rest for a bit?" He laid a hand on her arm, "Don't worry about the Keeper, or Alistair. Elissa and I will deal with him."

Hawke was giving Fergus a penetrating look.

"I'll stay with her," Bethany volunteered as Anders checked Andate over, "It's no fun when you get smitten and recover alone." The mage crawled onto the bed and cuddled next to Andate, making the warden giggle.

"I should get Merrill," Anders said with some disgust at how girly they were being, "Then you magewomen can snuggle together."

"She's probably going to want to stay with the Dalish," Hawke pointed out. "I'm going to head back to make sure everyone else behaves themselves." She took Andate's hand. "Try to get some sleep. I hear it's the best cure for smites."

Fergus looked like he wanted to stay longer for some reason, and Andate wondered if there was something he had wanted to discuss with her. The teyrn eventually inclined his head at her and followed Hawke out.

_Am I being overconfident?_ She could almost feel within her bones that Flemeth was being honest. There was no reason for a creature such as she to reach out to someone like Andate only to lie to her. On the other hand, Andate did kill her once, and rudely too. On the _other _hand, death did not seem to be a big deal to those like Flemeth.

Sometimes one had to spring traps to progress. Neither she nor Hawke were the types who stayed safe, and wearing the amulet had been as much Hawke's choice as her own, especially given that both knew what the other knew. She pressed against Bethany and allowed herself to slip into the Fade.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Apologies for the lousy French. I used google. XD

Andate, Andarta

11.

Keeper Lanaya stayed in Denerim for a while to enjoy the luxuries of the capital, something that delighted Amell and Merrill. Meanwhile, the other wardens Amell had brought with her started betting.

"Bet it's the teyrn. It's a smart match. Arlessa of Amaranthine, Teyrn of Highever. Plus, if rumors are true, the Teyrn's sister stole her lover, so it's only fair that she gets the Queen's brother."

"What about Nate?"

"The man has yet to make a move on her!"

"I'm betting it's that assassin elf."

"She doesn't like the assassin elf."

"What do you know? Women ignore the ones they like!"

"What did you just say?"

For someone who was as perceptive as Andarta knew her to be, Amell was being rather blind to the two suitors present at the palace to win her affections. The Champion was not certain if the Warden was being willfully ignorant or if she really did not understand what was going on. Perhaps they had some kind of unspoken dynamic that would appear to look romantic in nature to outsiders? Amell did know these two fellows for around ten years before Andarta came along, but Fergus had not been so attentive on their way from Vigil's Keep to Denerim, and Zevran Arainai simply seemed to regard her differently from the other women, including the Hawke sisters.

Either way, it was clear that she was not interested, which was kind of sad. Amell did not seem like spinster material, whatever her lifestyle. She might be deadly in battle, but she seemed too gentle to deserve a life alone. Then again, perhaps hardening her heart had been necessary when surrounded by so many male wardens.

"It's such a shame," Isabela opined, "She's so _proper_. All that beauty, gone to _waste._"

"Her beauty is hers to do with as she will," Andarta replied with some annoyance. "She's not beautiful for _our _sakes, you know."

"It's times like this when one can tell you come from the same seed," The pirate drawled.

Andarta had no idea what she was talking about.

"I heard there was this whole love story concerning the Warden and the King," Varric was always quick to find new story material, "Everyone is all hush-hush about it though."

"It's obvious they were lovers," Isabela said carelessly, "You can tell from their body language, as with anything. The King is all guilty, and the Commander tries her best. It has all the awkwardness of a failed romance. What's puzzling is that the Warden never moved on."

"I say, good for her," Varric went on, "She doesn't need a man."

"Just like _you _don't need a woman?" Isabela pointed out.

"I have Bianca," The dwarf chuckled heartily, "And she's all the woman I need."

"Shame that the Warden isn't in love with her staff," Andarta sighed, realizing how poorly her words had been chosen only after she uttered them out loud.

"Maybe she's simply not so aligned," Isabela was quick to seize the opportunity.

"Doubt it," Andarta managed to return without skipping a beat, "If she were, she'd be all over _you_, and we've yet to see that happen."

"She did do the King," Varric reminded the pirate.

"Ah, yes. Shame."

"She's still young, older than most marriageable ladies on the surface, but definitely eligible," The dwarf remarked, "Things can happen. She probably just hasn't met the right man. How is that amulet of yours doing, by the way, Hawke?"

The amulet did nothing, as far as she knew. Anders had stayed with her for the first night to monitor her in her sleep, in case it did something in the Fade, and Amell eventually took over staying with her, but Andarta kept waking up without remembering anything and neither warden mages felt any demon activity.

"Well, at least it's not doing anything harmful," Isabela said wryly.

The Circle replied to the King a few days later with a missive reporting that there were matters to take care of at the tower, but that they should be able to send mages after a fortnight's delay at most. He and the Warden sat together for hours to decipher the letter and see if there were any pleas for help or other hints as to what these matters might have been, but did not have any luck. It did not seem to be demon possession like with Uldred, or mage uprising, but there was a rather blatant request for Amell to watch herself and stay safe—with lots of love from both the mages and the templars and "Maker bless you and protect you"s.

Amell was very annoyed by the delay, and also very concerned.

"It could be that Irving was actually calling us for help," She said to Andarta, "Something must be going on in the Circle and to pretty much refuse the King…I don't sense that it is anything particularly life-threatening for now, at least not to those in the Circle, but I do think it is worth taking a look. It's not a trap I'm too keen on springing, however. I'm no longer the independent figure I was during the Blight, able to run baby errands all the time."

"That is where I come in, isn't it?" Andarta pointed out, "I have no connections whatsoever, and yet plenty of muscle and legs. If you wish to investigate the Circle, I can go in your stead and report back. I'm no mage, so whatever holds the Circle in check shouldn't affect me, and I can be discrete—if they don't expect my arrival, they have no time to hide what foulplay there may be."

"I think we shall have to resort to that," Amell's smile was a bit strained, "Maker, but I need to get use to the improper way of doing things; being an Arlessa and Warden-Commander has gotten me into the habit of protocols, which is all well and good when times are orderly, but if chaos is spreading to Ferelden, we'll all have to adapt. You can take a team including my wardens, if you feel you have need of them. They're folks of action, and being at the palace hasn't really done well for their spirits."

Andarta wanted to say that events at the palace had actually done very well for their spirits, but that was overstepping certain boundaries.

It was decided that Andarta would be bringing a team mostly of rogues, including herself, Varric, Isabela, and Zevran, as she predicted she would need Zevran's stealthing abilities. Zevran was not as enthusiastic as Andarta suspected he could have been, but he was not the kind of man who would let his desires rule over what he must do. In addition to the four, Andarta chose to recruit Anders and Merrill, because Anders had Vengeance and Merrill had blood magic to even either of the odds they might come across, and Oghren because her cousin's method of pointing him in one direction and letting him swing his axe away was truly formidable, and also because she only wanted to bring one warrior just in case, and did not want to separate Aveline and Donnic. Amell also suggested Teyrn Cousland join them and head to Redcliffe to check on the current Arl Teagan. Her reasoning was that if the Circle were audacious enough to refuse the King, they might have someone important backing them up. If it was the Chantry, there was not much the teyrn could do, but if it was someone within Ferelden monarchy's influence, Cousland would have a lot of influence. The teyrn was given four wardens along with his own squad of men. Merrill unwisely tried to convince Keeper Lanaya to journey with them to Lake Calenhad to recruit any elf mages that may wish to leave the Circle. Unlike Amell, the Dalish Keeper did not seem to realize Merrill was a blood mage, even now. Amell quickly stepped in and persuaded the elves that the Circle might not be a business they would want to get involved in, especially since even Amell herself felt obliged to steer clear of it. Merrill was disappointed, but such was life sometimes.

"I'll take care of Bethany," Amell promised, arm around Andarta's little sister's.

"I'm older than you," Bethany protested.

"Shhh!" Amell grinned mischievously, "Let's pretend we don't know that."

"Even so," Andarta looked at Bethany, "Our cousin seems to be a rather favored target of the King's smite. I expect you to defend her against him in addition to all the studying I think you will be doing." Bethany blushed at this. "You two take care of each other. We are family, after all."

"That we are," And for the first time something open and vulnerable shone in the Warden-Commander's eyes. "Be careful, Cousin. We'll be pining till you return, so don't leave us hanging."

Andarta kissed Amell on the cheek, mentally musing that their acquaintance might have meant more to Amell than she let on. "You still owe me a very dangerous expedition in the Fade, Cousin mine. I'll be back to claim it."

They started off on their journey with good cheer, despite the grave nature of the mission. The wardens with Teyrn Cousland's party mingled with his squad. Zevran and Isabela bantered as if ready to hop in a tent right there, Varric tried to make sense of Oghren, Anders and Merrill discussed their interactions with the Dalish for the last few days, and the teyrn rode alongside Andarta to inquire after her health and her amulet.

Somehow their particular conversation veered toward Highever, and the nobleman recounted his life there, both old and new.

"Father was a special man," Said Cousland, "He was a very responsible lord, very caring for his people and yet completely indifferent to notions of power. I remember back when the late King Cailan had been inaugurated; Father was the next favorite, if not _the _favorite, but he did not want the throne. His heart lied in Highever and he had no intention of leaving. Everything he did was for the well-being of Ferelden, but most especially Highever and its vassals. Of course, behind every great man is a woman," He shook his head, "Whenever Father was uncertain about something, he would go to Mother. Mother was easily better than Anora in her political acumen, and she made the best counselor for him we could ever hope the Maker to send. More than that, she was a woman of many talents—she could advise Father and run the household and raise me and my sister without any of us feeling neglected. For others, responsibility was a chore. For my parents, responsibility was a joy. It gave our lives meaning and allowed us to do good in the world."

"They sound like tremendous people," Andarta said sympathetically, "I should have liked to meet them."

"I expect they would have liked you, as well," The teyrn returned. "They were an open-minded lot. When I met Oriana, I just knew, if I couldn't marry her I shall be unhappy for the rest of my days. Father was not the ambitious sort, and I was heir to Highever, so what need did I of marrying for convenience and connections? Granted, some of that expectation also fell on Elissa, but we knew marriage was only one means of securing alliances, and Oriana was from Antiva—bringing her to Ferelden only meant other nobles missed opportunities, but it was in many ways better than choosing one of them over the others. So I married her, and all of Ferelden was scandalized. I didn't care, and neither did my parents, ha." He was silent for a while. "I can't quite remember her face anymore, or Oren's. Often I would take out her portrait, but portraits are no replacement for the actual face, and they hold but one expression. She is a blur now, a feeling."

"She must have been a marvelous lady, for you to hold on to her memory all these years."

"Ah, it was stubborn of me, too," He shook his head again, "The night I departed, she begged me not to go. She did this every time though—women and their fears, but they say women have the strongest sense and perhaps she sensed that night ever since we met. The Maker loves irony, for never did I imagine calamity to befall her and my son, in the safety of Highever's castle walls, as opposed to myself and my men in the outskirts of civilization. Then the coming of the Blight, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir's betrayal, Arl Howe's subsequent machinations, and all throughout I was the one who survived. The only good thing left was Elissa." He smiled at this. "She was, thankfully, visiting Antiva at the time—my in-laws, actually. At the time we thought she drew the shortest straw. Funny how life works."

"I know what you mean," Andarta smiled back sadly, "Everything I did in Kirkwall, I did for my family. Went to the Deep Roads so that we would have enough money to claim our old household, the Amell household. Came back to find my sister being carted off by the templars to the Circle. At the time, at least I had my mother. Then, years later, I was out confronting blood mages and maleficar and my mother ends up dying because of one of them and yet I'm here. For a while, there was just me in that house. So many empty rooms and no family to fill them."

"You did not marry? No one captured your interest?"

Fine thing for him to say, having been in mourning for the past ten years, but Andarta knew this was in good-humor. "By the time I became a noble, people wanted my wealth, my dowry. There were some that were not so obvious, perhaps they had honest intentions after all, but I still had my mother to care for and I didn't want a master of the house to bully her around. After my mother died, I became Champion, and then it became even harder for me to determine who was whom. No mother to help guide me when I was lost and confused, and my friends constantly in need of my support. I just…didn't have the interest in splitting my influence with someone simply to get married."

"It is difficult," The teyrn agreed.

Since he asked, Andarta felt bold enough to inquire herself. "And what about you? I am sure Lady Oriana and your son would not begrudge your finding happiness after they have joined the Maker?"

"It never felt right. I have asked your friend, Ser Vallen. I suppose after talking with her, it feels less like a betrayal to move on. I wasn't entirely convinced I could still love Oriana and Oren if I dared to love another woman, but the heart is far grander than we know, I guess."

"So," Andarta smirked impishly, "You have your sights set on the beautiful Arlessa of Amaranthine?"

The teyrn flushed slightly, but was not offended. "She's my sister's age. To be honest," He shook his head, "I'm not so sure. For the last ten years I've considered her a little sister to take care of in many ways, but she…baffles me, to be honest. I understood everything about Oriana, and about Oren. Ser Vallen told me that relationships _should_ be different but…after such a long time of thinking of her as a sibling, I don't think I can regard her as a wife."

"You seemed willing to entertain the notion, however."

"I am, for her sake more than mine. I heard about what happened between her and the King earlier." A pause. "For the last ten years, she's hidden it well. We all knew she wasn't quite alright, simply because she seemed to just…give up on it. But she hid it well enough that Alistair was fooled. Truly, I don't think Elissa would have fitted into her role as Queen quite so easily if Andy hadn't taken the initiative to pull away so thoroughly. She puts on a good act."

"…Hm."

"The Couslands owe her for that, and more. She was the one who slew Arl Howe. She and her mage-friend, Wynne, helped Elissa conceive and were present during Duncan's birth. She helped me restore Highever, all of this in return for Elissa taking Alistair's heart away."

"Marrying her is not the way to repay the debt," Andarta stated, "I think your friendship is enough. You and Elissa are both wonderful people, to treat her so kindly despite her past with the King. Having seen Kirkwall's nobility, I can assure you that is a rare thing."

Cousland smiled wryly at her. "Perhaps not," He admitted, "But I do love her, in a way. I want her to be happy. She isn't, you know. She's all smiles and sunshine, but it works only because she is such a good woman. Frankly, as a brother, I would not trust her with any eligible bachelor I have seen so far. I would rather take her under my wing." He smiled again, "Then again, she isn't the type to need protection."

Andarta chuckled at this.

"On the other hand, I don't want to deprive her of the potential to find someone who does love her the way she deserves. It's a conundrum, you know. She is still considered young, but when I was her age I had already married and lost my family. She is incredibly beautiful, but that isn't something she should depend on, and if she takes too long…but she isn't even trying. Perhaps I am being too presumptuous."

"You have good intentions. She will appreciate that. I doubt she will accept your proposal, however. She may not be as happy as she could have been, but she is content with her lifestyle now, and would not lightly give it up for the sake of pity or gratitude. You have known her for ten years, and only showed interest now—she would see clear through it. Perhaps you can support her to a certain extent, but you don't have the power to make her happy."

Cousland nodded. "I suppose not." He chuckled a little. "You remind me of her, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it's rather uncanny. You two have never met before now, have you?"

"No, we haven't."

"You're different, and yet you remind me of her. Perhaps it is the age difference? Kirkwall's influence?"

"And the fact that I'm not a mage?"

"That too, I would wager. Still, I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Well," Andarta teased, "We women ought to have our secrets. It wouldn't do for men to figure us out too easily."

Cousland barked out a laugh. "True enough! True enough!"

As their journey progressed, Andarta found she liked Cousland more and more. He was an honest fellow, rare among nobility, relatively free of guile and machinations even though he could spot them easily in others. Like his father, he was content with Highever and advising the King, and possessed an optimistic point of view of the world despite the tragedy that befell his family. She learned more about the Queen, of her as a very graceful child who possessed both wit and spirit without being tomboyish, and of Amell during her initial years as Warden-Commander, a natural leader if a bit inexperienced, leading her wardens against the remaining darkspawn of the Thaw and helping Cousland restore Highever and Amaranthine together. He talked more about his late wife and child, and Andarta pointed out to him that despite the regrettable brevity of their time together, he and his wife and child had a much better life than many others who lived together for far longer.

Zevran, interestingly enough, was an entirely likeable assassin.

"What is it with you cousins?" He asked Andarta, "It truly baffles me how you can reject such a natural part of life. And such an enjoyable one too."

"You mean Andate hasn't clarified this for you?"

"Ah, but she has that stubborn Amell gene," Said the elf with a coy smirk, "Plus it amuses her, I think, to baffle those like me."

"I would believe that. Well, you know how it is. Some people have stronger urges, others have weaker urges, and yet more have none at all."

"Well I know it is not that!" Zevran was not willing to go into the events of the Blight, however; as an assassin, despite his demeanor, he definitely knew what it meant to be discrete. "But to willingly deprive yourself for so many years! She might as well be a sister in your Chantry!"

"Our Chantry? You mean you don't believe in the Maker?"

"Assassin," Zevran pointed out, "Even if I did, that would be moot, for I doubt Makers look kindly upon those like me."

"Well, we all have our roles in life; we wouldn't be here if we weren't needed somehow."

The elf gave her an intense look. "That is…something the Warden would say, yes."

Andarta laughed. There was some entertainment to be found in this. "You shouldn't be too disheartened, my dear Antivan. My cousin is, I think, in pursuit of a more profound relationship than simply delighting the flesh, and you don't seem the type to settle down for that sort of thing."

"Oh? Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not. There is more to Zevran than meets the eye, after all."

"Yes," Said Andarta, "But that says nothing about commitment. It's such a hassle, isn't it? To be leashed to another like that. Far better to have a casual relationship with benefits, so you are still free to do as you please. The whole appeal of assassination, at least from what I see, is that feeling of power, of overwhelming your victim, whether through brute force or the cunning maneuverings of Crows. Some assassins do not enjoy their work, but it is clear that you do. Someone like you, I expect, would not be long happy to be at the mercy of another, not when you enjoy the reverse as much as you do, yes?"

"Hm." Zevran gave her a considering look. "Perhaps you are right. It is clear that the Amell line breeds a formidable lot, to be sure."

They reached Lake Calenhad in the evening, where Teyrn Cousland took leave of Andarta to head down to Redcliffe.

"I will have Teagan prepare accommodations," He said, "If you run into trouble, flee south to us. Stay safe, Ser Hawke."

Andarta waited until the teyrn disappeared with his party before turning to her group.

"Alright, let's get down to business. What do we need to know?"

"Well, the tower is surrounded by water, the only way to get across is to either ride the boat the templars man or to swim across," Anders looked at Oghren and his bulky armor, "So take your pick."

"If we ride the boat they'll notice, won't they?"

Anders nodded.

Andarta looked at Zevran. "What do you think?"

"I think that we should split," Said the Antivan, "One group should go up front and be the focus of attention. This will allow the other to be more covert, and discover things the first would not. We can meet up back on this shore when our parts are done."

They set up a time. Isabela and Zevran discussed various signals and they divided into two teams, with Oghren, Isabela, Anders, and Varric heading for the docks, using Oghren's and Anders' status as a Grey Warden to gain passage. Andarta, Zevran, and Merrill, with her natural elven grace and agility, headed for the waters to take a dip.

Predictably, the group on the boat arrived at the tower first. By the time Andarta's group arrived on the opposite shore, the others had already gone inside. Zevran waved them over to the side of the tower just as a few templars clunked along the banks. They started talking in Orlesian.

"Huh," Andarta listened, "I think they are talking about what's going on in the Circle. Something about Fereldens…tighter leash, King a heretic."

"Obviously not from around here," Zevran noted. "If they are here, that means there are more of them inside."

The three of them looked up at the tower.

"How should we climb this thing?" Andarta asked, "Merrill could cast a spell but the templars would sense her magic."

Zevran chuckled and took out a roll of rope. "You obviously haven't snuck into places that often if you don't carry rope with you."

"I have," Andarta said a bit defensively, "Mine's just not long enough."

"Ah, perfect," Zevran looked at hers approvingly, "Fair enough. I'm not sure if mine is either, but with the two of us, this will be much easier."

Andarta wanted to ask what he had intended to do if she had not brought her rope with her, but was soon distracted by the matter at hand. The elf knotted the ropes together securely before tying it to an arrow.

"I'll go distract the templars, Merrill, you stay here."

The templars were still chatting among themselves in Orlesian. Andarta picked up a rock and threw it at the water. Instantly, the men stopped talking.

"_C'est quoi cela?_" She heard one of them mutter. She waited a bit before throwing another one, and withdrew into the shadows as the templars clanked toward her.

"'_Qui est lá?_"

"_Montrez vous!"_

They were making enough noise that even Andarta could not hear if Zevran's bow had fired. Sticking to the shadows, she caught up to the other two.

"Templars," Zevran chuckled quietly. The rope was secure.

"Orlesians," Andarta rolled her eyes.

"I'll go first," He offered, "Merrill can come next and you can bring up the back."

"Sounds good to me."

The three of them moved up the rope easily. Zevran paused briefly near one of the windows to check that the coast was clear. It was shut and locked, so the elf balanced at the ledge to crack the glass open with a tiny but sharp diamond blade. They crawled into what looked like a storage chamber, filled with various utility items like brooms, brushes, dusters, and other knick-knacks, and uniform robes.

"We should stick together," Andarta said to Zevran, "That way we won't get lost and we can help each other if we're caught."

"We increase our chances of getting caught if there's more of us." The elf was paying more attention to the door and the traffic, his pointed ear pressed against the hard wood.

"Disguises, elf." Andarta pointed out to the shelf.

"Very well."

"But I like my robes!" Merrill exclaimed in dismay.

"Can't stand out now," Andarta pointed out, "Come along, strip."

Zevran gave her a smile that was piercing in how leery it was. Andarta rolled her eyes and stripped in front of him. She was hardly going to allow him the upper hand in _that_. This seemed to win the elf's approval, and when she did not react with embarrassment or interest, he subsequently lost interest in leering at her. He grabbed a broom and gestured for Andarta to grab a duster. Merrill had her staff to complete the charade.

"Keep your head down," Said Zevran, "Andy says the templars are pretty watchful. They may recognize that we aren't the normal faces around here if we draw too much of their attention. We should discuss coursework," He looked meaningfully at Merrill, who had no idea what he meant."

Andarta opened the door and peeked out. The halls were brightly lit, since it was still early evening and the sun had not yet set completely but the torches were already burning. There were no templars here, though she heard shuffling on both sides of the door. At least it was an extended hallway. "She said it's not going to be on the test," She said out loud, though not loud enough to be shouting, "But the stuff before that is."

"Ugh," Zevran enunciated as he followed her out, swinging the broom and completely losing his Antivan accent, "How much of the stuff before?"

"All of it."

Merrill was quiet, eyes sharp as she flanked Andarta's other side.

"I'm never going to be ready for that test," Andarta went on with a groan and they walked boldly past a pair of templars stationed in the corridor. So far so good.

"I'll help you study," Said Zevran.

The dialogue was too much for Merrill to keep up with, which was probably just as well because Zevran's abrupt switch of accents reminded her that Merrill had a Dalish accent.

"What about the stuff with the squares and the triangles?"

"That's…going to be on it."

There was a cacophony of conversation looming as they progressed, and eventually they entered a big hall filled with mages. Zevran had dumped his broom to the side and Andarta similarly abandoned her duster. If the templars were watchful and observant, the mages were not, and none of them seemed to acknowledge that here were three new members they had never seen before.

"What's going on?" Merrill asked in a small voice.

They did not look confined. Everyone seemed healthy, unlike the Circle at the Gallows; it was obvious that the mages were allowed outside, for their skin was not as pale and sallow. The locked windows must have been for more generic reasons than keeping the occupants inside. The mages were nervous though, and there was an undercurrent of unease, though on the surface people were doing their best to create an illusion of normalcy.

There was a great advantage in having Zevran in their group.

"That there is Senior Enchanter Petra," The elf pointed her out. Said woman was human, had coppery red hair and looked to be in her mid-forties. "She and Wynne were good friends with Andy. Over there is First Enchanter Irving," He pointed out an elderly-looking man with a significant beard and a tired countenance, "And that is Knight-Commander Greagoir. Interesting that he's still Knight-Commander. Looks like he's seen better days." Greagoir was a tough-looking man, stern but as weary as Irving.

"It's some sort of gathering," Merrill observed, just as Irving stepped forward and called for Order.

"Everyone, please, settle down," He called out, and the conversations died down abruptly, "We have a few announcements to make. I will remind all of you that curfew has been moved to an hour earlier, and punishment for being out is instant isolation. Our visitors from Orlais are hoping to meet the Warden-Commander, but she is currently in Denerim with the King and for various reasons, we cannot work with her there. Therefore, they will be remaining with us for an indefinite period of time. I will thank all of you in advance for your cooperation. Please inform the templars of your plans if you cannot abide by the protocols ahead of time so that we may make allowances. Meanwhile, the following classes have been canceled until further notice…" He went on to list a bunch of courses and their course-numbers.

"Hm, how curious," Zevran whispered, "I believe more templars have made their way past Ferelden borders without first informing the King."

"Where are the others?" Andarta asked in concern. "They were meeting the Circle officially. What happened to them?"

"We will find out soon enough," The elf promised.

"Why can't they meet the Warden-Commander in Denerim?" Merrill asked.

"That's the question of the day, isn't it?" Andarta ducked through the crowd, the two elves close behind.

People were unhappy and frustrated, she could tell, but their indignation was directed at the Orlesians, not the templars. In fact, the templars seemed a bit frustrated as well, which was confusing because if the Orlesians were overstepping their bounds, there should be enough templars at the tower to drive them off. Unless they brought an army here again? Was Ferelden so poorly defended that the borders would allow _two _armies to go by unnoticed? Or was there corruption within the defensive ranks? The King would want to know.

Zevran touched her elbow. "We can probably talk to Petra. Irving is too close to whatever this is, but Petra might provide more insight as to where our friends are and what is going on."

Andarta nodded. "Very well."

Hopefully they will get some answers without the backlash of violence.


	12. Chapter 12

Andate, Andarta

12.

Almost immediately after Hawke left Denerim, the city erupted into chaos. Despite the term, it was actually a gradual swelling of discontent, aimed at the Chantry. Hatred of Orlais had simmered down during Alistair's reign, but people regarded Andate Amell with pride and were similarly fond of the wardens at Vigil's Keep. Even though the templars in Vigil's Keep were actually from the Free Marches, the Chantry was based in Orlais and this inspired resentment toward said empire. The invasion of the templars caused riots to break out and Alistair had to send reinforcements to defend the various chantries, much to his exasperation.

In the meantime, Andate attended court, a business she found to oscillate between being diverting and boring. As a mage, she was cautious about proclaiming her opinions, preferring instead to point out insights that others in the hall had not noticed. A Landsmeet was announced, but prior to that, many nobles were already in Denerim and various issues were laid out to be discussed. The Chantry was losing power, everyone knew, but not so dramatically that Ferelden could risk blatant opposition. There was a strong need to protect mages, a matter Andate pointedly kept silent about. She was pleased to discover that many of the nobles were defensive of mages, but were wisely concerned about how events in the rest of Thedas would affect the relationship between mages and templars. Getting rid of the Chantry, after all, could mean getting rid of the templars, and no matter how popular mages had become these days and how much independence Alistair granted them since the Blight, no one actually wanted templars to go away completely.

Several suggestions were tossed out, though only to be logged for the Landsmeet. Maybe templar skills could fall under a secular institution rather than the Chantry, that way if the Chantry fell the templars would still be available to balance the mages. What did Arlessa Amell think of this?

Andate gracefully managed to deflect the question for later, when all of the aristocracy convened in Denerim.

What about the fact that the templars invaded Ferelden? Was the King planning on doing anything about that?

Alistair deflected the question as well, stating that the situation was still under investigation.

The Free Marches have become disorganized and they were a major source of Ferelden's food supply; was the King planning on resolving the situation there?

Alistair answered that yes, this was to be discussed at the Landsmeet, but he anticipated that since the problem originated with the Chantry, it would take a long time.

Once she was out of stifling corsets and high heels, Andate researched with Bethany about the Fade using the tomes the Warden-Commander had brought from Vigil's Keep. They were simply compiling data at this point; Bethany was researching on the Harrowing because the Circles often summon demons within the Fade to the same area as the apprentice mage, and they could use similar techniques to create controlled battlefields. Andate herself was trying to get a sense of just how many demons there were in the Fade and how many of each type. Pride demons were probably the fewest, she would reckon, or else, given their sheer power, they would have taken up the most possession cases.

"Here is a Tevinter map," Bethany showed Andate, "The Harrowing takes place here on this island, but it's very small and not really good for more than one-on-one battles. The rest, over here, have something of a crude layout. Black City overlooks here," She outlined the area with the back of her pen, "Dreams tend to form in this area. Demons that help with resurrection tend to come from this area, according to the legends. I'm not sure how accurate this is."

"We can compare the map to the area when we get there," Said Andate, "I think we should start with the site of the Harrowing and work our way out. The Harrowing is a more controlled area and one that the mages are at least familiar with." Except Merrill, but between the remaining three, they could probably manage. She studied the map closely. "I've seen other maps made by other mapmakers; it looks fairly similar from what I can remember. If it's not completely accurate, it can't be off by that much. We can only depend on maps so much. The Fade is always changing anyhow, and it's the demons' home front."

It was not long before the First Warden wrote a letter directly to Denerim instead of to Vigil's Keep, using a cypher as he did every time he included sensitive material. Obviously Nathaniel had informed him that she was here. He decided to kill two birds with one stone and address Alistair as well.

_Commander Amell,_

_As you are probably aware, the Chantry has been demanding the release of their templars from your base in Vigil's Keep. I have written instructions to your second-in-command, Warden Howe, to hold the templars under arrest until further notice. So far, the Chantry has not apologized for their transgression. Warden Howe has informed me of the program to wean the templars off their lyrium. If this proves successful, I strongly recommend you recruit as many of them into our order as you can. The Chantry is growing increasingly desperate, and many of their divisions in the Free Marches have resorted to attacking Grey Warden bases. I foresee that in short time the Chantry may attempt to attack our mage brothers and sisters of the Grey, and it will help to have some of the templars on our side._

_In light of that, there have been reports that more templars might have trespassed Ferelden borders in addition to the ones in your fort. Please warn His Majesty to be on the lookout. The King is to protect you as commander, and I will expect Ferelden to take necessary measures to defend our brothers and sisters against the Chantry. The Free Marches is currently in uproar, and so I have ordered the Grey Wardens there to be re-dispatched to the Anderfels, Orlais, Antiva, and Tevinter. Should Ferelden need any military assistance, please advise His Majesty that Weisshaupt will allocate the Grey Wardens from the Free Marches to your fort. Be prepared to depart for any of the other warden bases, as you may be required to go to the aid of our brothers and sisters in these parts._

_Do not do anything foolish; you still have twenty years to live at least, and I will make you suffer if you perish before I do. I am absolutely serious about this._

_Your First Warden,_

_—_

"This is incredibly intolerable," Andate complained, folding up the letter. "Since when did I need _Alistair _to protect me? For crying out loud!" She had saved Alistair's rear end countless times during the Blight, and though Alistair kept his training to a point as King, she doubted he retained all of his fighting prowess from back then. She indulged in a bit of indignation before penning a letter to Nathaniel with orders to begin recruiting templars. She predicted there will be a lot of members; lyrium addiction was not a light matter, and the templars would not take lightly to being fooled all this time in return for their faithfulness. As they were all trained as soldiers, few of them would prefer a life without purpose and arms, and becoming a Grey Warden would seem like a noble alternative even if it reduced their lifespan, because at least their lives were shortened for a good purpose this time. _Odd,_ she mused as she wrote, _So Ser First is planning on declaring war on the Chantry? It would be very bold of both. _Should the Blight occur while the Grey Wardens were clashing with the Chantry, things could get ugly indeed, but the populace would always favor the Grey Wardens under such circumstances, and they did need to protect their mages…

She slowed, feeling a bit nonplussed and skeptical. Mages protected each other. They were not protected by others. Others feared them. They did not understand them. And mages, well, they did not understand others either. Some looked upon the world and saw only cruelty. Others looked upon the world and saw only innocence and joy, because they were taken to the Circle at such a young age. All of them wished they were more a part of society than they had been, regardless of what their thoughts were on it, but Andate knew it was not so much the Maker, or the real danger mages presented, that kept them apart. Other people were dangerous too. The sick, the ill, the outright corrupt, but they were not identified so thoroughly. Mages were just different, and a minority, and supposing they did get rid of all the demons in the Fade, society would just come up with some other reason to discriminate against them. It was the price of being unique, after all. Any society functioned by taking care of the majority, and if the needs of the two differed, the minority lost. It was fair and just and the best this world could come up with. Life is a rose garden. There are thorns.

The immediate problem is the rigidity of templars, however. Getting rid of demons _would _get rid of the justification of that, and perhaps this was why non-mages were in support of this endeavor. The Chantry had become audacious, believing that it could oppress using the name of the Maker and others would submit without a fight. They forgot that they were not the Maker themselves and just because a creator might sanction them, did not mean they would always transmit his will.

And perhaps non-mages supported mages simply as an excuse to wage war against the Chantry for other reasons. The mages were merely a scapegoat, neatly provided on a platter by Anders when he set off the explosions in Kirkwall. Once the war was over, the goal accomplished, and the body count totaled…

_Oh Maker…_

Andate leaned back. Well, this would just make things worse for mages. There was nothing she could do about it, though. She could not exactly ask them to submit like sheep the way they have been doing for the past few centuries. They would just have to overcome what trials were tossed their way as they come.

_Perhaps sail across the sea._ She considered the idea. _Perhaps sail across the sea, establish a community of our own. Like Tevinter, except not as cutthroat. We can function as a haven of sorts, an asylum. Or, if I could find the points in the Fade that keeps reaching out to mortals and making them mages, perhaps I would not be completely misdirecting the Arishok in Seheron._

Twenty years to live. She would not have enough time to accomplish the former, gathering mages to set sail, especially not with the world falling apart as it was. The latter, well, she envisioned generations taking over the quest. They could call themselves the Spirit Wardens, maybe. _Eh, I'll leave the naming to someone else. Maybe Darta could suggest something better._

More news streamed into Ferelden, while public outrage rose against the Divine in Orlais as Varric's rumors grew and grew until Andate was hearing things that she found absolutely ridiculous, but the people ate them up like Alistair ate cheese. She did not try to dispel any of them, figuring they were doing a pretty good job for their purposes, but kept track of the unrest just in case things get out of hand.

One morning, Shianni came to visit her.

"You won't believe the insanity," Said the elven bann, smoothing her fine skirts. She had just returned from visiting an arlessa in west Ferelden. "Are you alright? I heard about an attack at the keep, an army of templars! Surely that's an exaggeration!"

The ginger elf had become good friends with Andate, just as most people she had met as a warden during the Blight. They were both completely inexperienced when it came to running territories and dealing with their subjects and other nobles, so the two of them quickly bonded and often confided in each other whenever one committed a gaffe of some sort.

"If you need any help," Said Shianni, "We can't spare any more for wardens, but we won't stand for our friends being abused this way, and some of our cousins and brothers and sons are in your order."

Andate laughed. "The ass-kicking was definitely one-sided, my dear elven friend—and you can be assured that your fellow elves whooped their behinds good time!"

"What are you doing now? You're in Denerim, the templars are still in Vigil's Keep…are you and King Alistair planning on doing something?"

Andate did not tell her much; she had a feeling it was best to keep Shianni out of the plans, mostly because Shianni did not quite understand the dangers nor how capable the Warden was at facing them.

After the initial casual chatter, the elf then confided that she actually had some concerns now about the state of affairs with the Chantry.

"We've had some bloomers," She told the mage, referring to children who showed magical ability, "In the past we'd just call the templars—King Alistair has made it easy for families to keep in touch and to visit the Tower—but with the uproar regarding the Chantry, a lot of families are reluctant to hand them over. I promised them I would consult with you first before we do anything."

"Hm…" Andate mused, "Let me see what the situation is. Keeping the children hidden in the alienage might not be a wise move for long. Is it alright if I meet with them?"

"Hm," Shianni frowned, "I take it that there's a reason you're not just telling me to send them to the Circle?"

On their way out, they passed Aveline and Donnic. The couple looked like they felt very out of place in the palace; they both were apparently more use to being one of the guards than one of the guests. Without Andarta and most of the group from Kirkwall, the two were a little stranded, so Andate invited them to come along.

"I would recommend you change out of the armor, however," Andate told Aveline, "We're meeting children, not darkspawn or bandits, and the metal might scare them."

They both conceded to the point, thankfully, and soon the four of them left the palace grounds to head to the alienage with Shianni's elven escort.

Over the years, the alienage had improved greatly in terms of sanitation and structure. While not as fine and luxurious as the rest of Denerim, it was relatively clean and well-patrolled. Alistair knew that elves had a distrust of humans, so he set up a program in the policing forces to include elves at the lowest level of guardsmen. They were to always have a human supervisor, or else humans would revolt, but on matters of elves, the supervisors usually stepped back to allow the elf guard to handle things. The party came across several groups, all of whom saluted both the bann and the arlessa with little concern, though one elf guard was in the middle of questioning a shifty young elven man.

Shianni had a decent complex for her official use, which was furbished as a gift from the court upon her acquisition of her bannorn. Most of Ferelden's nobility acquired their wealth through the serfs, and since the elves were a poor lot, Shianni's office building was simple and unimpressive, though clean and functional.

"I see you still haven't gotten rid of that wretched yellow color," Andate teased her. "It looks like someone vomited all over the building."

"Ha ha," Shianni drawled, "If you are so offended by it, perhaps you can repaint the building yourself."

"I'll paint it bright pink," Andate challenged, "How's that? It will glow in the dark and I'll put glitter all over it."

"Would you really prefer that to vomit yellow, Andy?"

The warden paused. "Eh, not really. At least vomit yellow maintains your dignity."

Shianni chuckled. "Thought so."

She spoke to one of the elven escorts to summon the children, though she referred to them by name so that their magical talents would not be overheard by the wrong people. Aveline inched closer to Andate when there was a clunk of armor in the distance.

"There are templars here," She said to Andate, "Is that normal?"

"Well, the alienage is primarily Andrastian, and templars are the soldiers of the Chantry."

"There are a few templars here, yes," Shianni nodded.

"I'm surprised that they did not sense the children's magic," Andate turned to her.

"There were some that were taken away," Said the bann, "But the ones that we're keeping secret didn't show in the alienage. They were playing out there during the riots."

"Ah," That explained a great deal, "I see." She considered Aveline and Donnic, who stared back warily. The two guards had honest faces, and guards in general were direct, almost painfully so. They preferred to get to the point, and if that did not suffice, to take up arms. If the templars were close enough for Aveline to hear, they were close enough to sense any magical demonstrations Andate had the children do. Andate could cover and say she was the one performing the spells, but her own position was a bit precarious already.

"Damn it," She muttered, "Darta just had to take all the rogues. Where's Leliana when you need her?" She should have brought one of the rogue wardens too, though unfortunately none of them were particularly sly when it came to verbal manipulation.

"Perhaps we should not have decided to meet them here?" Shianni asked cautiously.

"No, I want them to feel somewhat secure. The alienage is a fort of sorts for you elves. You trust me but they don't, and it's going to be harrowing enough already." _What to do what to do…_

Wait a minute, why was _she _thinking of all the ideas? Shianni was the bann here! "Shianni, any way to get rid of the templars for a while?"

Elves could be quite vicious, Andate decided about half an hour later when Shianni's elves decided to "riot" about the Chantry. Meanwhile the children were taken to Shianni's office to meet with the warden. The bann then went to "deal" with the "riot" while her husband, a jovial-looking elf with bushy back brows, oversaw the meeting.

"People can get hurt out there," Aveline said disapprovingly, "They might go over the top, or the guards can."

"A few minor injuries can go a long way in this case," Said Andate, "As long as there are no lives lost and no missing limbs. Shianni knows how to control her own bannorn. Now," She turned to the little ones. There were seven of them, one was a four-year-old girl, two boys that were eight and ten, two girls that were nine and eleven, one thirteen-year-old girl and one fifteen-year-old boy. Their parents were all with them, some had siblings, and they crowded the small office nervously, looking wide-eyed at the famous Warden-Commander.

Conscripting any of them was out of the question. Andate was not even sure that would protect them for much longer.

"I'm going to tell you the truth," She said, directing this more at the parents than at the children, "I am not certain what is going on with the Circle here in Ferelden. From accounts, it should be safe, and I may recommend you send your children there later when we have confirmation. For the time being, however, it is better if there is a way for you to keep the children here as long as you can. It is not a permanent solution; your children will all need to be trained eventually, and some of you," She looked at the fifteen-year-old especially, "May already need the Circle's protection, or at least a templar to guard. If that is the case, we will try to figure something out, but we'll address those issues as they come."

Demons, Andate had learned over the years, liked certain people more than others, and it had to do with a mix of things, physical health being one of them. The four-year-old was too young for a demon to want to possess; it had happened before, but she was in less danger, and from the toddler's nervous answers it seemed that she did not catch any demon's attention yet. The fifteen-year-old was also in less danger due to his relatively frail health, which was an issue Andate wearily mused she would have to address later, on a separate occasion. Everyone in between was actually pretty ripe for possession, but the girls had calm dispositions and had very compassionate personalities, which meant that rage and pride demons would be less interested in them. The thirteen-year-old was at the cusp of womanhood, though, so she was actually tempting to a desire demon. Her magic was also very strong, which was both a good thing and a bad thing.

"You hid your magic for a time, didn't you?" Andate noted as the girl looked away. "It's alright, we understand. You're also very smart—you figured out a lot of the spells on your own, right?"

"I don't want to go," The girl looked at her with vulnerable eyes, "I like it here! I don't want to go to some tower, it's not fair! I never asked for any of this!"

Andate tilted her head back and forth to look at her eyes from different angles. Very ripe for demonic possession. Her strength in magic meant that she would probably be less tempted to use blood magic and anything that might feed ambition for power, but it would also call to demons in the Fade. "There are many things we don't ask for, child, and many things we have to endure despite what we want." Tears welled out from the shining eyes, and Andate wiped them away gently with a handkerchief. Someone threw a tomato at the window, smearing it with juice.

"That man fails at aiming," Donnic said to his wife, who grunted in agreement.

They were going to have to do something about the thirteen-year-old. Andate let the child go back to her parents, turning to examine the boys. The eight-year-old was unfortunately a bully of a sort—she could tell by the way he held his face when he looked at her. The ten-year-old was safe, for now.

She went to lean against Shianni's desk as she gave all the families instructions on how to keep themselves hidden while not endangering anyone.

"Just be normal," She instructed, "The more you focus on magic the more it will try to intrude in your lives. For most of you, this magic bloomed pretty recently, so just pretend it never did, if you can. You're all fine right now, and later on if this changes, just tell Shianni and she'll talk to me and I'll see if it's something to worry about." She then sent everyone except the fifteen-year-old boy, the thirteen-year-old girl, and the eight-year-old boy home.

"How long have you been sick?" She asked the teenage boy.

His mother looked miserably at Andate, "He's always been a bit…well, he's not as strong as other boys."

Andate felt his pulse and looked at his tongue. "Does it bother you, not being as strong as other boys?"

"…Sometimes," The youth said honestly. Something thudded against the window again.

"Warden-Commander," Aveline suddenly hissed, "The templars."

"Remain calm," Andate instructed them, before turning to the window. Even so, she could hear them all suck in panicked breaths.

Sure enough, the templars were heading toward the building, despite the continued riots.

"Oh look," Andate observed, "The King's men are here to join the fun." She could see them lined up on their horses, calling out to the elves, though none of them actually drew their swords yet. Alistair must be wondering what was going on. "I guess I'll have some explaining to do when I get back."

"Commander, what about the templars?"

"Let them come," Andate shrugged, "What can we do?"

"Warden-Commander," One of the parents begged,

"Don't worry," Andate turned around to give her a reassuring smile, "I have this handled. You all just keep quiet, continue looking scared, and let me do the talking."

The elves did all of that splendidly when the templars arrived.

"We sensed magic here," Said a tall dark templar that looked Rivaini, "What's going on?"

"Healing session," Andate said simply.

"Where is the bann?"

"Right behind you."

Shianni's face was closed as she walked up to the templars, her escorts behind her. "Is there something you needed, gentlemen?"

"We sensed spells being cast in your office."

"Hello? Healing session," Andate chirped.

"Healing sessions involving fire and ice spells?"

Donnic was beginning to inch his hand toward his dagger that was sheathed under his belt. Aveline was showing more restraint.

"You folks have never been to healing sessions, have you?" The Warden drawled. "Heat, to relax muscles, ice to reduce inflammation."

"Why not just use a healing spell?"

"Because it can heal _wrong_." Andate managed not to sound too condescending. "I can give you a crash course in healing but I'd like to send these children home first. By the way, I happen to be an arlessa, in case you forgot about that. It's time you show some respect."

The templars still did not get it. "Why are you healing in the bann's office?"

"Why not? It's easier to collect everyone—"

Then the eight-year-old just had to cast a spell at the templar.

"Andraste's ass!" Shianni exclaimed.

Andate fought to smack her forehead.

"You!" The templar neutralized the spell easily, and in an instant, he and his fellow templars smote the lad.

Andate was honestly tempted to just let the templars get the boy—really, he deserved as much for such impulsiveness, but she was not entirely sure if the Circle would be a death sentence for the child…and that would play on her conscience. The templars were done talking to her though.

"You are also under arrest for lying to templars about the presence of a mage."

"I'm arlessa and you have no proof that I lied."

"Don't play coy with me, _Arlessa_," The templar sneered.

_Oh, so he's one of _those _guys._ "Aveline, Donnic? Sorry about making you two take off your armor."

"That's fine," Said Shianni, sounding furious. "I've got plenty of armored guards to spare."

_Fantastic!_ Andate thought gleefully as the elves launched themselves at the templars. She completely forgot Shianni was there for a minute, and with reinforcements to boot. The bann herself was participating in the attack with her elven grace and agility.

"Aveline! Donnic! This is our cue to leave. Elves! Let's get out of here!" She opened a window and began ushering everyone out. "Keep them occupied!" She called to Shianni, before leaping out herself.


	13. Chapter 13

Andate, Andarta

13.

"Lyrium," Said Senior Enchanter Petra, "It's partially why Irving wrote to the Warden-Commander."

"They're using lyrium to blackmail the Circle?"

"Keep the templars in line," Petra glanced cautiously to make sure they were not overheard, "During the Blight, Andy helped the dwarves crown Bhelen as king, and he had reached out initially to the Circle to make business deals in lyrium trade outside the chantry. Problem was that the templars couldn't accept such a deal without defecting, so they rejected it. Now the lyrium still comes from the Chantry, and with everything that's going on, the templars from Orlais are squeezing the supplies. If we step too out of line, they cut off routes and our templars will be left without."

"To the Void with all…ugh," Andarta scowled. "I see."

"So the Circle is actually cooperating in order to help the templars! Interesting…" Zevran rubbed his chin.

"Well it doesn't exactly help them to have a bunch of crazy templars around," Andarta pointed out, "But there's no way to get rid of them? What are they doing here?"

Petra paused as a group of templars passed, all of them speaking Orlesian.

"They _said _they wanted to talk, to come to some sort of accord. Negotiate a deal, Andy helps the Chantry, and since she's the Hero of Ferelden and the ender of a Blight, it makes sense; she is very influential among the mages of Thedas."

"You don't think so?" Zevran noted.

"They didn't want their presence known, and they didn't go to her at Vigil's Keep. Would _you _think so?"

"Fair point."

"Your First Enchanter must really trust Andate since he is luring her to the trap without any hint that there is one."

"That could not be helped. He was dictated to by their Knight-Captain; we had to appear good and obedient or else they might withdraw the lyrium."

Andarta scowled. "You realize if they get the Warden, mages lose a very vital fighting force?" Why was it that the more people like her and her cousin helped others, the less others seemed to care for their well-being?

"We were hardly going to let them get away with it," Said Petra, "Besides, the templars at the docks are on our side. We're doing our best to hide that from the Orlesians, but there it is."

_Oh._ That made a lot of sense too. Though speaking of the docks…

"Oh yes," Said Petra, "Wise move, that. The Rivaini woman is doing her best to distract the Knight-Commander," Zevran smothered a chuckle at this, "But I overheard the Orlesians intend not to let them out again. They hope to draw Andy here to investigate, especially upon hearing that two of them were her wardens."

"Hm," Zevran looked at Andarta, "This is not good."

"What do we do?" Asked Merrill.

"Maybe we can try some _assassinating!_" Andarta imitated Zevran's speech, causing said assassin to smile. "Though seriously, I don't see this ending diplomatically."

"I can hide you with the apprentices," Said Petra, "It's nearing curfew. If you walk with me, our own templars won't say a thing, and hopefully the Orlesians won't notice that they've never seen any of you."

It was just their luck as they went down the halls that Isabela was busy distracting the Knight-Commander. Andarta had never seen so much of her bosom exposed over the top before, and the commander was noticeably uncomfortable. The pirate flashed her a pointed stare and Andarta made a quick signal, 'Stay', indicating that they needed the official group to run as much interference as they could and not attempt to leave, since there was much to be done.

The apprentices were still in their teens, young, solemn and nervous. Happily, they did not remark on the intruders, nor did the templars standing outside their dorms.

"You won't have a bed, I'm sorry to say," Said Petra, "But we can't let the Orlesians know you're here."

"That is fine," Said Andarta, "I'm not sure how much sleeping we'll be doing." She glanced apologetically at the young mages. They will not be sleeping tonight.

Petra nodded, before taking leave of them because she was under curfew herself. Zevran blew out the lights and they gathered by the window as the apprentices climbed into bed.

"So, plan?"

"Templars don't know we're here, Isabela's group is occupying them, but there's no way of communicating with them. I wonder if Teagan knows that the Circle is threatened with a blockade."

"Hm."

"If we can cut off the lyrium somehow," Andarta scowled, "They probably have a supply over here, but they have shipments from Orlais, right? If we can get word to Teyrn Cousland to interfere with those, the Orlesians will be forced to leave if only to get their lyrium doses."

"That would harm our templars, however, and that is precisely what this Circle is trying to avoid."

"How come all our problems have to do with lyrium?" The Champion fought the urge to strike at a window.

"What if the teyrn just attacks?" Merrill asked, "Demand the Orlesians leave?"

"The templars, in my experience, don't really respond well to threats," Said Zevran, "They usually tend to respond with a threat of their own."

"Well, what could they do?"

"Our friends are here," Andarta pointed out, "As is the entire Circle. They have enough templars to perform an annulment."

There was an intake of breath from one of the apprentices. Andarta winced. That could have gone better.

"Alright, so we don't want that. We also don't want to cut off the lyrium supply because that would hurt Ferelden templars. What does that leave us?"

"_Assassinating_," Zevran said coyly.

Andarta snorted. "You think you can go up against all of the Orlesians at once?"

"Not all, but some, and that would suffice."

Andarta knew better than to imagine that Zevran intended to go up and stab someone; she was devilish enough herself to come up with a few tricks. "Poisons to imitate an illness? Make several of the apprentices sick and some of the Orlesians _lethally _sick? That would require keen organization. It will be difficult to separate the two."

"Lyrium," Zevran pointed out.

"Hm. And what about the templars here?"

"Well, perhaps the lyrium stock will tell us."

One of the apprentices sat up.

"Who are you?" She whispered, folding the covers to the side. Other apprentices rose as well.

Andarta looked at their innocent faces. "I'm the Warden-Commander's cousin."

"The Hero of Ferelden?"

"She is indeed," Said Zevran with a smile.

After a few exclamations of surprise and delight, the first apprentice whispered, "Can we help? We don't want the Orlesians here…"

Andarta glanced at Zevran. "Can you draw us a map of the Tower?" She asked. "It's better to know the layout when you're sneaking."

The apprentices were woefully ignorant of non-magical ways of lighting candles, or perhaps they simply did not have the means—there were no tinderboxes to ignite them with, but Zevran had such tools and by the dim light, the young mages sketched out the map of the tower, one sheet of vellum for each floor.

"The lyrium supply is kept somewhere on the first floor. We can't tell you about templar movements," Said one girl, "Sorry. But we do know that there is at least one templar stationed at each door to the bunks, so for bunks with two doors there are two templars. They switch shifts, but not all at once. These over here are bunks, and there are also some templars that sort of wander around, some are Ferelden but some are Orlesian…"

"Don't worry about them," Said Zevran, winking at Andarta, "Templar armor is as good as an alarm, the way they clunk. Are you good at stealth, Madam Hawke?"

"Can you slip out those doors without the templars knowing?"

"Can you?"

"Um," Merrill began nervously, but the two rogues ignored her.

"How much are you willing to wager?" Andarta asked.

"How much are you?"

"Be careful!" The first apprentice exclaimed anxiously, "If they catch you, I mean, this might come back to us too…"

"Don't worry, _mi cara_, sneaking around Templars is far easier than sneaking around Wardens."

"You snuck around Wardens?" Andarta asked as she stared hard at the maps, attempting to ingrain them to memory, before rolling them up. "What for? I thought you and the Warden-Commander were friends."

"Doesn't mean I have to be boring, no?" Zevran gestured to her. "Come on, let's see which of us trips them first."

"You're so going down," Andarta drawled, taking out a straw and a powder flask. She peered through the slit between the door and its frame, silent now, and carefully stamped some powder onto the end of the straw, before slowly sliding it back out, careful not to let any of the grains drop off. Sliding the straw expertly through the slit, she softly blew through the straw, allowing the powder to permeate the air in the hallway. Zevran gestured to the mages to cover their nose and mouth as he and Andarta did the same. They opened one of the windows so the mist would dissipate from the room.

They eventually heard a dull clang of armor outside, signaling that the templars have fallen asleep due to the drug.

"Point to me," Andarta announced as Zevran opened the door. He gave her a cheeky grin. "Merrill, you stay here with the apprentices."

"Be careful, Hawke," Said the elf, "Arainai."

Zevran flashed her a toothy grin before abruptly disappearing into the shadows as he stepped out.

"Show off," Andarta muttered, as she did the same. Merrill closed the door softly behind them.

Several templars were patrolling the halls, their gait stiff and heavy. The ones standing in front of the door they just left were still standing, leaning against the wall, half supported by their own armor. The hall was dimly lit, enough so that people could see where they were going but would not notice anything without paying attention. Zevran went ahead and Andarta followed, figuring that it was his turn to do something impressive—the shadow skill did not count.

"Up there," He whispered in the darkness, "There's the door to the first floor."

The door was on the heavy side, but they managed to open it without making it creak. Both rogues went down the flights of stairs in silent steps. Zevran paused when they reached the main floor and pressed his pointed ear against the wooden door before cautiously opening it. They shut the door and hid as more templars walked past, grumbling in Orlesian.

"K'nig'ts yourself," Andarta muttered when she heard one of them make fun of the Ferelden language. Zevran huffed a quiet chuckle.

The first flower actually had most of the apprentice quarters, which meant more templars were patrolling the area. Progress slowed as the two rogues were forced to hide almost every ten seconds. They finally made their way to a library where they ducked behind some shelves to regroup.

"This would be a lot easier of the Warden were here," Zevran told her, "She knows how to shapeshift and could scamper up and down the halls without being seen."

"As what, a mouse?" Andarta looked through the shelves. "That could come in handy. That reminds me of something though."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to try a trick I haven't tried in years." By years, she meant since she was a child. "I don't know if I can still do it, but I'll give it a shot."

"Oh my," Zevran folded his arms with a smarmy smile, "This I want to see."

"Don't expect too much, nothing might happen." With that, Andarta raised her arms and centered herself. She stretched out her senses…and _called._

Distant squeaks penetrated the dull quiet of the library. Zevran's eyebrows nearly went to his hairline as about thirty mice and rats rapidly assembled around them.

"Lo," He muttered, "Now this trick you have to teach me."

"I can't believe that worked!" Andarta was delighted. "I haven't done that in, like, ten years!"

"Why would you stop doing this?" Zevran asked, baffled.

"It seemed like magic," The Champion replied, "I didn't have a drop of magic in me, it turns out, but it can draw attention, and with Bethany and Father, we didn't want any of that. Now," She focused again, directing the mice out into the hall.

"What did you tell them to do?" Zevran asked.

"I told them to go distract the templars. And to find the lyrium stock, if they could spare the time for it."

As if on cue, a loud shout followed this, followed by resonant clanging.

"It must be the skirts," Said Andarta without skipping a beat.

"I really like you, Hawke," Zevran exclaimed in amusement.

Andarta sniffed. "You need to pull two tricks now."

The elf only chuckled at this.

One small mouse slipped under the door and sat in front of Andarta, twitching its nose.

"Hopefully this worked, come on," She beckoned to the Antivan. They opened the library door quietly and the mouse scampered ahead.

"I assume we are heading toward the lyrium supply?" Zevran whispered as they kept to the shadows.

"With any luck, and not to a table of cheese," She whispered back.

The lyrium stockroom was actually not that far away, but the door was locked.

"All yours," Said Andarta. She could pick the lock, but why do all the work?

Zevran gave her a knowing glance. She turned away to watch out for the templars and warn him if they came too close.

The Antivan picked the lock efficiently, but with more flare than was probably necessary. The stockroom was windowless in order to preserve the lyrium, which meant they would be in pitch black if Andarta closed the door.

"I'll stay in the hall," She told him, keeping the door open. "I'll close the door if they're coming, and make sure you hide as well, in case they choose to go inside."

The templars were far too distracted by the collection of rodents to even think about venturing to this part of the tower. Zevran came out with a bit of a troubled expression, relocking the door behind him.

"They don't have a lot of lyrium left," He said to her, "Certainly not enough to sustain both the Ferelden and the Orlesian templars, if our dear King's accounts were anything to go by."

"But the Orlesians show no sign of leaving."

"You know what that means."

"They have their own supply." Andarta paused. "Likely outside the tower." _We're going to have to sneak back _out _now._ "Before we go, I want to check on Isabela's group."

"I'm sure she's taking care of herself," Zevran chuckled.

Isabela was, when the two rogues got to them. Hearing the panicked stuttering of a templar in her room told them everything they needed to know.

"She is incorrigible," Andarta rolled her eyes, slipping off to check on the others. Anders was awake, pacing in his room and visibly trying to rein in Justice.

"I don't like this place," Said the miserable mage, "I thought I was free of it. Shows what I know, huh."

"There there," Said Zevran, "You can't expect to be free all the time, my dear mage. We all of us have obligations."

"I prefer to choose my obligations, thank you very much."

"Don't we all," Andarta could not help but drawl, "But no man is an island. Try to hang in there."

"Those templars are going to drag me off, I know it."

"If they wanted to, they would have already, Anders." Andarta rubbed her forehead. She could sense, as if she had a sixth sense, Justice rearing his ugly head and the mage's temper start to grow. "Look, don't freak out, we're here for a reason, understand? No one is going to take you away."

"Those templars know me—"

"And they gave you a _guest _room. Guest, Anders. These are guest rooms, right?"

"Well…yes, but—"

"So there we go."

Zevran gave her a look of pity, which served to calm her down a little. Perhaps if she told Anders what was going on, he would focus on the matter at hand and not on his phobias.

The mage listened with a grave expression as the two rogues outlined what they had learned.

"There is nowhere else on this island that they could store lyrium. I mean, yes, there are patches of ground here and there, but not enough for the number of Orlesians we encountered."

"Do you happen to know how many there are in total?"

"There is at least another circle's worth. They didn't all assemble, just their Templar-Commander and a few that were close by. They wanted us to leave until we told them Oghren and I were Grey Wardens. Then all of the sudden they became chummy, offered to let us look at potential recruitees…should have _known _they were trying to trap us here…or lure Andy here. You have to warn her!"

"Calm down, Andy's not stupid," Andarta rolled her eyes, "We're currently worried about the situation with lyrium. I need to get word out to Teagan in Redcliffe, I'll get Merrill to do that—meanwhile I want the four of you…well probably not Oghren, just let him drink whatever he wants—but you, Isabela, and Varric, go try to get the templars of this circle and see if any of them are amenable to a little bit of insubordination. Especially the Knight-Commander. Also, prepare the mages, they're probably more willing. If all goes well, we poison the lyrium supply for the Orlesians without accidentally dosing anyone on our side."

"Sounds like a delicate maneuver," Anders said dubiously.

"It's a delicate situation," She shot back, "You have a better idea?"

"Can't we just attack like we usually do?"

Zevran sighed. "No finesse at all."

"Fine, Anders," Andarta snapped, "Blow up the Circle like you blew up the Chantry. Get us kicked out of Ferelden too, why don't you?"

Anders was quiet, and she regretted taking out her temper on him. Still, there was no undoing what he did in Kirkwall. It was a burden he would simply have to live with.

"You know I will never turn my back on you," She said to him, "But you made a mistake. Stop trying so hard to repeat it."

"Andy doesn't think it's a mistake," He remarked petulantly.

"Andy didn't expect better from you. You abandoned her, you never respect her and so she never expected anything from you. I did." Andarta paused. " Probably because I'm less wise than she is."

Silence fell at this. Zevran wavered, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"When you're willing to go to any lengths for something," Andarta went on, "You lose yourself, and then the battle is lost. No war can be won without warriors. If they lose themselves, there is no one to fight the war. It's not just the question of morals and ethics, it's simply the fact that despite everyone saying that all limits are off in war, it's not. The side that retains control is the side that prevails."

"This isn't a normal war, Darta—"

"No, but you turned it into one," Andarta pointed out, "Before, it was war behind the scenes. You brought it to the forefront, made it into a situation that involved bloodshed. There's a reason Justice was confined to the Fade, Anders. In the real world, justice is controlled by mercy, mercy is controlled by justice—there are checks and balances to everything. You need to stop relying on other people to keep you in line. I can't keep doing that, Anders. You're going to destroy _me _as you go down this road. I can guarantee that if you get me killed, you won't win in the end." She looked pointedly at him. "I'm no longer Champion of Kirkwall, Anders. You've already begun destroying me."

She saw the mage swallow, but he did not try to contest her statements. She sighed, wishing there was a way to get Anders to see the truth without hurting him. So much for that.

"Get some rest," She ordered, "Zevran and I are going to head upstairs so we can climb out and look for the lyrium."

The Antivan followed her as they left Anders. He remained silent as they melted into the shadows.


	14. Chapter 14

Andate, Andarta

14.

"Alistair is going to kill me," Andate observed as they mingled with the crowd in the busy marketplace of Denerim. "And Shianni, but he has a soft spot for her." Actually, the one who had a soft spot for Shianni was actually Elissa, but he might as well have one too.

"How are you getting out of this one?" Aveline asked.

"I have no idea." Actually, Alistair's hands were tied on this one. "He's probably going to target Shianni more than me, since she's the one who technically initiated the attack. He'll publicly condemn the Alienage for creating chaos against the Chantry and let them get away with a slap on the wrist. I mean, what else can he do? He can't withdraw funds, he can't get rid of Shianni as bann, she's too influential. He'll give this speech that's filled with half-hearted criticisms and that will be that. Will probably give me a warning as well, even though I didn't actually do anything wrong. All in all, Alistair's the one who is really going to suffer." Andate found she was not too remorseful about that. "What we really should worry about are the children."

Donnic and Aveline glanced at each other, a bit stumped.

"They can't go back," Said Aveline, "I'd have men stationed at the gates to wait for them. Humans tend to overlook specific elven features, but templars would be more use to them."

"Oh no, there's no going back until the children are secured. I'm just thinking, I don't want to intrude on Alistair at the palace; he's going to have enough problems. And they might expect me to use Fergus's property; it might not be long before they head over there to accost me. Lanaya's elves might still be around. I don't know how receptive they would be to this though; they don't tend to abandon their own but it's still intrusive." She glanced at the eight-year-old, "And that's even assuming they behave themselves. You," She walked over to the boy and his parents. "I'm going to say this once and I won't repeat myself. I don't tolerate selfish impulsiveness. You pull that sort of stunt again, I'm leaving you to the wolves."

"You can't do that!" The boy exclaimed with a fearsome scowl over his mother's frantic efforts to hush him, "I'm just a kid!"

"You're assuming that factors in to life-or-death situations. If there were darkspawn about and a kid is about to get everyone else killed, I would throw that kid to the darkspawn to save everyone else. You think your kid-life is worth more than the others here?"

The child scowled again, "Well you weren't doing a good job! That templar was gonna get us! It's not my fault you're _incompetent_!"

Andate nearly laughed, but she really had no patience at the moment to deal with an inconsequential brat. "Big words from a little mouth. Mother, Father, you two make sure he keeps in line, or else you're on your own, understand?"

She really did not harbor much hope for that though.

"Are we going to the keeper then?" Aveline asked.

"Assuming we can even find them." The Dalish had lands in the south, but they had not lost their attitude when it came to travel, and Lanaya's group would be more protective of their keeper.

They had rushed ahead of the templars, so leaving Denerim was easy, even if it was a long process. The eight-year-old kept whining about being tired, while the parents desperately tried to get him to behave. Andate managed to filter all of this out, though she did stop at one point to buy some snacks for everyone. At least then the boy had quieted down for a while.

Once in the wilderness, Andate stopped everyone.

"We might not find them," She told them, "The Dalish aren't easy to find."

"We're going to the Dalish?" One of the parents exclaimed, and Andate realized she never explained who Lanaya was.

"Specifically to a Keeper, Lanaya. She's a close friend of mine, hopefully she can hide you all while I sort out the mess with Shianni. I'm hoping I can find her."

"How?" Asked the fifteen-year-old boy.

Andate breathed out. Morrigan would have a fit if she ever learned Andate had this form; it would probably seem too wimpy for the witch. Then again, Morrigan had an appreciation for pretty things as well. Who knows if she would not like a halla form?

The elves gasped as she transformed.

"Is that…"

Andate kept still for a moment to readjust to her new body. There's a tail…and she could flick her ears, and _hm, forelegs._ Her hearing was a bit enhanced, as was her sense of smell, though her eyesight remained much as it was. She took a whiff and smelled…

_Grass._ Sweet, succulent grass! It had been a while since she grazed; Vigil's Keep did not have great pastures. Maybe she could help Alistair's gardeners mow their lawn a little once she returned to the palace…

"Warden-Commander?" Donnic blinked at her, stupefied.

"I want to learn how to do that!" Cried one of the children. "Will they teach us how to do that at the Circle?"

Andate shook her head in negative, but was not sure how clear her answer was. She did not feel like transforming back just to answer that. Raising her head, she let out a high bleat, hoping that the call would catch the attention of the halla herd traveling with the Dalish and not the wolves that might be out around here.

She called about five times before she heard an answering call. Not too far away after all; Lanaya's camp must not be in much of a hurry to return to the south. She tapped Aveline's hip with her antlers before setting off.

"I think she wants us to follow," Said the guardswoman.

Traversing the forest in halla form was always easier somehow, despite the alien feeling of the body and the occasional snag of her antlers. The halla was a graceful animal, nimble and agile and yet quiet, built to sprint along between the trees and around the river banks. It was just so awkward to walk on two feet instead of four.

The Dalish camp was well secluded but not too inaccessible. Elora greeted Andate as she jumped out of the woods.

"I see you are making good use of the form," Said the halla keeper with a small smile. "_Aneth ara_, Warden-Commander."

Andate was not sure when the Dalish began using social greetings instead of formal ones towards her, but she could not complain. She inclined her head in silent greeting back and started nosing the ground for grass. Her companions soon caught up with her.

"Andy!" Lanaya exclaimed, moving into view, "I didn't know you were coming. Stop eating!" She scowled, "Where are your manners?"

Andate glanced at her in amusement before swallowing a mouthful and shifting back to her human form. "I couldn't resist," She explained, "It's been a while. Lanaya, I need your help."

"Of course. Speak, _lethallan._"

Andate directed the elf away to discuss with her in private.

"I know I am asking a great deal from you…"

"Not at all," Said Lanaya, "You do more for us than you can possibly know. They are our kin, whatever their background, and elves do not abandon their own."

Andate covered her mouth for a moment. "Hm."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure." Andate grimaced. "Just be on your guard." She gave a quick rundown of the elves in their company. "I wanted to ask more questions regarding the fifteen-year-old teen. He's always been frail, from what I hear, but perhaps there is something you can do for him to boost his health?"

"I'll look into it. Thank you, _lethallan._"

Andate then glanced around at the vibrantly green grass. "Can I eat now?"

The Warden-Commander ended up forcing Donnic and Aveline to wait with the Dalish for a good two hours before finally heading back, still in her halla form. The initial wonder with her shapeshifter abilities faded when Andate ignored them in favor of grazing, and Lanaya informed them that no, Andate will not be teaching the shapeshifter skill—she had not even taught her own wardens, let alone anyone else, but even if she did, that time would be in a rather distant future, after the children were sufficiently trained.

Of course, Andate had no intention of sharing a potentially dangerous skill with just anyone. Power had to be given responsibly, even if grass was the most delicious food one could ever eat. As a halla, anyway.

"You seem incapable of staying out of trouble," Alistair was very annoyed with her when the trio finally returned to the palace. He was waiting at the top of the stairs, dressed regally, his arms folded in front of him as if to look imposing.

"I'm fine, just in case you wanted to know."

"Of course you are," Alistair growled. "Where were you this whole time?" He sniffed. "Were you eating _grass_?"

"Why would you say that?" Andate looked behind him. "Where's Elissa?"

"She's dealing with the templars."

"They're here?"

"They're in the courtyard." Alistair nodded once at Aveline and Donnic. "Where were you this whole time again?"

"I was grazing."

"…Ah…"

"Maybe you should help the Queen."

"She's fine on her own," Alistair drawled. "This is no minor matter, Andy. You smuggled away mages."

"You know families do that all the time."

"You're a mage. They can take you."

"I'm a Commander of the Grey."

"You know how desperate the Chantry has gotten."

Andate inclined her head at this. "That is true, at least, but I was working with children. A mage's life was never without risk."

"What am I going to do with you? What do I say to the First Warden if they got you? You need to be more careful."

"Everything is Shianni's fault," Andate replied, knowing there was nothing Alistair could do to Shianni without angering Elissa.

"Of course it is," Alistair sighed.

"Where is Shianni?"

The bann was in one of the guest rooms with Bethany. The elf's face brightened dramatically when she saw Andate.

"Why does your breath smell like grass?"

"I can think of a ton of worse smells than that."

"True, but it's still odd. You didn't run into any trouble, did you?"

"No," Andate reflected, "We ran into no trouble at all."

Bethany looked on curiously, sweeping her fingers through her hair. She gave her cousin a hug, and Andate talked with them for a little bit before taking leave of them to wash up and change.

After a quick scrubbing and some indoor clothes, she headed out into the hall where several wardens greeted her.

"There are some letters sent for you today," Said a dwarf, handing over the missives. Andate pulled her hair over her shoulder and scanned over them briefly. They were messages from the other warden commanders, as well as one from Nathaniel. She headed back to her room to look over the letters properly.

_Andy,_

_Are you alright? We heard something about the King and smites—he better be behaving himself over there! I can't believe you let him do that to you; if I were a mage, I would put him in his place._

_The templars are adjusting very well, all things considered. At this point, they've calmed down a lot, and some of them are very close to getting off it entirely. We have a couple who wish to pledge into the warden brotherhood, but the mages and I agreed that we should wait until they're fully weaned off their lyrium addiction before subjecting them to the Joining. There has been no word yet from the First Warden as to what to do with them, though I expect that by the time the others come around, it would no longer be relevant._

_As for our own wardens, we are doing fairly well. There has been limited darkspawn activity all around, which is the Maker's blessing considering what is going on all over Thedas. So far the mages here are quite comfortable, but it sounds like the other mage wardens aren't enjoying the sanctuary we Fereldens have. Our resources are running a little bit tight; I've written to Weisshaupt about this but I don't really expect much of a response. I'll probably have to draw from the income of your arling if the situation does not improve. The people of Amaranthine have been of good humor for the most part, and kept inquiring after you; I told them I have no idea when you might be returning, but just so you know, they want you back, so if you're up to the mischief I'm told you are, do keep that in mind.  
><em>

_Speaking of which, your minstrel friend Leliana passed by here just yesterday with that elf, Fenris. They stayed for one night with us; _they said they were making their way to Seheron to find an old comrade of yours, and early this morning I had a group of wardens escort them to the docks._ Those two don't seem to like each other very much, but they seem to be tolerating each other well enough that I did not feel free to intervene in any way. From reports, they were making good time; the boat left on time and the winds were good, and the weather promises to be favorable for the journey._

_I will give you any updates as they arise. Take care of yourself, and _write _to me; you are an inconsiderate commander, do you know that? Let me know what is happening._

_Nate_

"Oh," Andate frowned, "I guess I did forget to write to him."

When she looked at the next missive, however, she forgot all about Nathaniel.

_Kadan,_

_I was told the Ferelden Warden Commander was attacked. Please respond._

"…" That was just like him, really. The Warden scratched her head. He did not even write down his title—ever succinct and efficient, was Sten. _And what if I met another Qunari who called me 'Kadan', hm? _She could already imagine Sten saying, dryly, _"That is highly unlikely."_

Still, this gesture was touching in its own way. She was hardly expecting Sten to be eloquent and flowery, and his brusqueness had its own charm. The fact that he took the trouble of writing to her hinted that he had been worried, and while the Qunari had different priorities, they did not lack emotions, and formed as close relationships as anyone else. In a way, she considered Sten a close friend.

Especially since she knew how to tick him off.

_Sten,_

_Ask Leliana.  
><em>

_Warden-Commander Amell_

"Serves him right," She muttered with a smirk, as she laid the brief vellum to the side. He was probably going to be _so _irate at learning nothing from the letter, (except, perhaps, that she was alive and well enough to write a letter), but at the same time it was a good precautionary measure. She knew enough about the Qunari to have legitimate reason to worry that his seemingly well-intentioned letter was actually a cover for something else, or that it might not be first swiped by his superiors. She had no intention of telling the Qunari any more than what they already knew. Leliana was in a much better position to gauge everything anyway.

The other warden commanders were giving her updates. They were probably planning on convening in Weisshaupt, but so far there was no confirmation. Andate wondered if she could somehow attend any of this. If she sent Nathaniel in her stead, the First Warden was going to worry she was up to something…and the last thing she wanted the First Warden to do was worry she was up to something.

She was still looking over notes when the Queen poked her head into the room.

"Andy?" Elissa called, "Are you busy right now?"

"Not especially," Said the Warden, "Some of these I need to reply to, but they can wait." She stood up and stretched. "Is everything alright? Alistair said you were dealing with the templars. How did that go?"

"As well as you'd expect," Elissa leaned against the door after shutting it. "Are _you _alright? Alistair said you came to the palace with your breath smelling like grass."

"Shapeshifter," Andate waved.

Elissa blinked. "Oh."

"We found the Dalish," She said, "They're still camped outside Denerim."

"They are? Why don't they just remain in the city, then?"

"You know how they are." Elves were a bit unfocused, particularly if they were the wandering sort. "They probably saw something exciting. Or their halla might have put up a fuss." The deer were usually quite gentle, but the Dalish did often put aside everything for their sake. "It turned out to be for the best, though. Hopefully we can get the templar issue resolved, the circle issue…"

The Queen levered herself off the door. "I have a bad feeling about this, Andy." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Andy, duck!"

Andate threw herself from her chair just as she heard the something zip past where she had been and strike a wall. Without thinking, a spell was in the palm of her head and she threw in the direction the projectile came from. She heard it collide with something.

"Get back!" She cried to Elissa, who moved out of the way of the window. They heard a thump, like a body landing on a ground.

For a moment, the two women froze.

The Queen turned, dashing out into the hall. "Get to the back garden," She ordered the guards. "There has been an assassination attempt on the Warden-Commander.

"Andraste!" Andate exclaimed to herself, edging near the window to look out. "Well, it just keeps escalating, doesn't it?"


	15. Chapter 15

Andate, Andarta

15.

The rogues went back to the first room, where apprentices were eager to help, but Andarta was unwilling to risk them for this enterprise.

"Just stay quiet and still," she told them, "don't make a sound. Merrill, I need you to watch from the roof and see if you can trace the traveling patterns of the Orlesians. Come down before dawn if you do not see anything. Zevran, you and I are going to leave the Tower. We'll join Merrill where we started the climb. Thank you, First Enchanter. Hopefully we will get to the bottom of this; the Commander has need of the Circle's assistance in a grave matter at Denerim. It is not urgent, but the sooner it is done, the better."

Zevran helped Merrill reach the top of the tower and set footholds forged from knick-knacks collected around the apprentices' room for her to descend later. He joined Andarta on the ground for a ground patrol, taking note of where the Orlesian templars passed. For the most part, however, the Orlesians were sloppy, careless, and blundering, easy enough for the two rogues to avoid.

"The righteous ones are always less clever," Zevran murmured, "won't you agree?"

"Hm." Andarta thought about Orsino, that poor mage who finally lost his mind at the sight of all the dead. "Alas, that is not enough for most mages."

"No," said the elf, "nor elves in the alienages. One cannot count on the flaws of others to save oneself."

Merrill was still on top of the tower, and a quick glance up revealed that she seemed to be staying up there for now. Andarta and Zevran settled to wait.

"Very glad the Warden is not here," Andarta muttered, "I am not sure she could have handled the situation with the delicacy we are if she were to come herself."

"It would be difficult, true," Zevran allowed. "She use to be a lot sneakier. Ten years as Arlessa and Warden-Commander did make it much harder for her to do things covertly, at least by herself. Now what _was _that trick you did with the rats?"

In the excitement that had followed, Andarta had almost forgotten about it.

_How likely are animals to be affected by lyrium?_

"Well?" Zevran pressed. "Would you be willing to teach me the same trick?"

"I hardly know how I did it myself," Andarta admitted.

"Perhaps you have a bit of mage in you."

"Perhaps."

"But if you were doing magic, the templars would have sensed it."

"It did not involve the Fade, so the templars would not have sensed it."

"Interesting," the assassin mused. "Perhaps we might find more use of it. Can you summon your friends to find the lyrium supply outside?"

Andarta blew out a breath. "I do not know if it would be discreet enough."

"_Mi cara, _we are in shadow. Even if the templars saw, what can they say?"

"Demons can possess animals, however," Andarta reminded him, "and I do not want to draw their attention like that. Not without a specific purpose."

"Fair enough."

He was an unusual man, Andarta decided, as the two slipped into silence. There was an easy way he had with words and actions, but it was sneaky, and never as innocent as it should look. He seemed to have a motivation behind everything, even when it seemed innocuous, and Andarta was left wondering just what to make of this elf.

Andate trusted him, but that did not really mean that Andarta should, whatever might have been said at the King's palace. People could be selective about their generosity. There was no reason for Zevran Arainai to be loyal to the Champion other than as a courtesy to the Warden-Commander, and it was really a curious thing that he was even that loyal to her in the first place. He hardly seemed the type to look out for anyone other than himself.

"What are you thinking about, Champion?" Zevran asked.

Andarta debated how to answer. She decided to be forward. "Do you love the Commander, Zevran?"

The elf was silent for a moment. When he replied, his tones were a little guarded. "Ah. Why do you ask that?"

Andarta just stared at him.

"Do I sense a bit of jealousy?"

She smirked at this, and pointed out, "For the record, you did ask me what I was thinking about."

Zevran allowed this with a soft laugh. "That I did. I shall be more careful in the future." Silence descended for a moment, before he continued, "Are you doing well, in Ferelden?"

She supposed this was a fair question. "Last time I was here, I was little more than a child. It's a bit hard, coming back. Like finding a lost father, but only part of him."

"You left when the Blight started, yes?"

She saw the ghost of the great ogre form in the darkness, Carver rushing forward, her mother's scream. Leandra was a good woman and mother, but she had the knack for occasionally saying the sort of things that hurt lifelong. That stricken moment, when Carver died before them, had been terrible enough for the whole family. Had her mother simply grieved over her lost child, it might have been something the Hawkes could eventually recover from. She just had to add that Andarta should have stopped him, though. She had to blame it on someone.

As the eldest, Andarta had always bore the brunt of her mother's scapegoats, but that was the first time it had really hurt. Leandra was, perhaps fortunately, not wise enough to realize just how profoundly she wounded her daughter. It was not something Andarta ever intended to let her know, but sometimes, in moments of brutal clarity, she resented her mother for being so self-absorbed. Her last memory of Ferelden had been tainted with this ill-feeling.

"I lost my brother to it," she said quietly.

"Ah. I am sorry. How old was he?"

"He was Bethany's twin." She paused. "It feels strange. We never really got along. He and Bethany were always tight. Same age, constant companions…with me, though, he was always…untouchable, in a way. But losing him was like losing a part of myself. Sometimes I wake up at night arguing with him only to remember that he had been gone for years. I can no longer remember his face so well anymore…and yet I always feel like he should be here."

"I know," said Zevran, and Andarta wondered if he really did.

"Have you lost anyone to the Blight?"

"Haha, no, 'tis my luck, I suppose," Zevran smiled. "Lost to other things, before and after, but not to the Blight, no. Strangely, it was one of the best times in my life. The fair Warden did a good job of keeping everyone in line without making us feel pressured. We would sit around the camp and tell each other stories. We all had reason to give our all, and we all had reason to watch out for each other. It was like finding a family."

Andarta mused over his words. _He had no family._

"Sometimes the Warden would say the same. The Blight was a terrible…terrible time, but she was happy then. First time being free…and then it was over." His voice changed ever so slightly. Andarta thought she could detect a hint of anger in it.

"You all blame the King," she noted, "even though you do not say it."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "And you all blame your mage warden, even as you keep him close."

"They are both good men, though."

"Ha!" Zevran breathed out through his nose. "I use to think that there is no such thing as a good person. Then I met the Warden, and she…was beautiful. Truly. I heard through the grapevine that she might have died at the end of the Blight, that people were expecting her to die, for what reason I cannot fathom. The Maker does not favor assassins, I don't think, but even so, I extend my thanks to Him, for allowing her to stay with us for a little longer."

_Well obviously. She took on a dragon hosting a god. Survival would not be anyone's default expectation._

"But she changed. During the Blight she was so filled with purpose, so eager to make things better. It seemed like she could change all of Ferelden, if she wanted to. But then when the Blight ended, she just…stopped. She gave the Dalish their lands because that was what was promised during the Blight, and she improved the Alienage…but she made no more promises herself. She could probably singlehandedly alter the nature of this land, but she started doing everything through Alistair and Cousland. Some of their policies were obviously inspired by her…but she's always cautious now. She no longer takes risks. She just confides what she wants and depends on people like the King and Queen to carry them out if they agree."

"But she has taken so many risks already," Andarta remarked, speaking from the part of her that was tired and listless, "hasn't she done enough? Perhaps it is someone else's turn."

"I would agree, if that were all, but she would not even do so for her own happiness." Zevran shook his head. "She guards her heart more closely, now."

Andarta shrugged. "Perhaps that is best. If she does not guard her heart, who would?"

The assassin did not answer. Silence fell between them. After a moment, Merrill appeared beside them.

"Found it!" she said in a breathy whisper. "Found some kind of path, anyway."

Andarta grinned. "Good work. Shall we?"

* * *

><p>The templars were traveling back and forth along the path Merrill indicated, but it led to a hole dug into the ground. It was some kind of tunnel, and going in would require some kind of illumination.<p>

"This does not look promising," Zevran remarked. "Perhaps it is prudent that they hide their lyrium supply underground, but it is all too easy to be trapped inside."

"Perhaps we will need to help of animals in this case…"

"Animals?" Merrill blinked.

Andarta thought. What sort of creatures should she use? If this were merely to locate the lyrium, she would summon rats again. However, she would much rather clear away the guards. That meant scaring them somehow.

_Bear? Wolves?_

A moth flew across her face.

_Spiders._

They had to duck away while a pair of templars approached. Andarta waited until these two went in before summoning. Zevran watched, intrigued, as Andarta called them. She settled down after a moment, but nothing happened at first.

"Did it work?" he asked.

"I hope it did. We have to wait."

"Why?"

"Because they are all in the basement of the tower," Andarta turned her head to regard the building, "and it might take a while for them to arrive."

When they did, both elves were quite disgusted.

"It should work, I'll give it that," the assassin remarked, as the dog-sized spiders scuttled into the tunnel. It was not long before they heard shouts in Orlesian. They heard sounds of swords banging against the earth, but as more spiders funneled in, the templars were actually overwhelmed. The creatures scuttled back out to signal to them that the coast was clear.

Within was the promised lyrium, large carts full of it. It was enough to make Merrill heady. They had to leave quickly before any of them became sick.

"Now what?" Merrill asked. "We located them. What should we do?"

Andarta regarded the spiders. In the distance, they heard more footsteps as Orlesians came to investigate. She moved all of them to the side and out of sight until the templars went in, then sent the spiders to take care of them.

"I think," she said to Zevran, "we can move the lyrium supply more discreetly with our spider army. What do you think?"

"With the Orlesians constantly busting in, we'd be better off just using your little army to kill all of them."

"I'm losing spiders." With each encounter, the templars would kill some. There were not enough spiders in the Circle to last this long.

"Can spiders tunnel?" Merrill asked. "They can move the lyrium without the Orlesians noticing."

"Too late now. Any Orlesian that comes by would realize something happened."

"Then we should probably wait," Zevran suggested. "There are spider corpses littered in the tunnel, so it's clear that spiders had attacked. We wait a day, let the Orlesians believe that the spiders were to blame. In the meantime, the spiders can create a separate passage and transport the lyrium little by little once they let their guard down."

"Sounds like a plan!" Andarta approved.

"Should we tell the Teyrn and the Arl?"

"I'd like to sleep in a proper bed." Andarta was exhausted.

"Then we should call on them," Zevran smiled.

* * *

><p>It was almost dawn when they arrived in Redcliffe. Arl Teagan took one look at Andarta and called the servants to prepare the rooms.<p>

"You are unhurt?" Teyrn Cousland asked, looking at her with some dismay.

"I look that bad?"

"…You obviously had a long night."

"I'm no longer as young as I use to be," Andarta murmured a little self-consciously. "Back when I could stay up all night and still function during the day." She was feeling almost unwell. "I fear I have not the mind for the proper etiquette at this time."

"Of course. Is there anything at the Circle that we should know about? Prepare for?"

"Possibly some outrage from the Orlesians; some spiders attacked their lyrium supply."

Merrill chirped, relating what transpired. Andarta left her to it and went to collapse in her room without even a proper bath. She must have looked quite ghastly, for Zevran did not even offer to keep her company. She was not sure she would have replied in an intelligent manner anyway.

She woke in the afternoon, ravenous. Zevran was still up, chatting with Merrill. Andarta dove into her meal without minding anyone else. They left her alone until she finished.

"So when do we set forth?" Zevran asked.

"Dusk." Andarta was already plotting in her head.

"Anything we can do to help?" Teyrn Cousland asked.

"Not tonight. In the morning, I'd like some interference."

"Interference?"

"If the templars are anything like in Kirkwall, they might blame the Circle, and I do not want the mages to suffer from the backlash. I want official Fereldens to stay their hands. These are Ferelden mages. Orlesian templars have no business harming our mages. Without their lyrium, they're less likely to start a conflict if it's avoidable."

Arl Teagan glanced at Teyrn Cousland. "I think we can manage that. I'd like to visit Connor tomorrow."

"Have they been allowing you to do that?" Zevran asked.

"To be honest, it has been a while since I have seen him in person. He has been writing me letters, however."

"Who is this Connor?" Andarta asked.

"Arl Teagan's nephew," the assassin explained, "who turned out to be a mage, as it happens. Last I heard, he was doing quite well."

"Yes. His Majesty had plans to bring him to Denerim."

"Well, once we get the situation settled, he can go."

"Sounds like a plan. Will they notice their lyrium supply missing by morning?"

"They should. At the very least, the guards would, and would notify the others."

"So we should be at the Circle at sunrise, then?"

"Wait a little bit, for it to look natural," Andarta suggested. "If the Orlesians discover their missing stock too early, my parties will be able to handle the situation until you arrive."

"Very well." Arl Teagan nodded. "Maker show us the light, then."

* * *

><p>"I am really liking your trick," Zevran told Andarta that night, as the spiders scuttled around like ant workers, lifting away the lyrium. "Is there no way I can convince you to teach it to me?"<p>

Andarta had a rather disturbing vision of unfortunate victims being killed by snakes in their sleep. "A little bit of a cheat for you, is it not?"

Zevran's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "Perhaps," he relented. "But then, there is a certain skill that is necessary to maneuver such subjects, I would assume."

Merrill suddenly waved at them. "Templars!"

The three were hiding in the bushes close to the tower. At Merrill's warning, both rogues fell silent. Andarta's hands gripped the hilt of her blades as bits of Orlesian drifted their way.

_"…patron veut eux de comprendre…araignées"_

_"…dégoûtantes…"_

_"…vraiment envie de sortir…Ferelden…"_

"Why does Orlesian sound like their tongues swelled up in their mouths?" Merrill whispered.

Andarta nearly laughed out loud, and gave Merrill a light shove in reproach. The armor glinted in the torchlight, and Andarta had the spiders go still to avoid detection. So far, none of the men were entering the cache.

One of the men suddenly looked in their direction. His beard was a chinstrap connecting to his mustache. He actually looked quite handsome, save for the arrogant turn of his eyebrows. He raised a hand to the others, and they stopped conversing to look at him, waiting for his assessment.

_"Quelque chose ne va pas," _he remarked.

Zevran shifted slightly, adjusting his balance.

With his right hand, the Orlesian drew his sword out. Andarta laid a hand on Merrill, and then pointed ahead when she caught the elf's attention. Merrill nodded.

She turned her face forward just as the Orlesian yelled, charging at them. Zevran leaped up first as Merrill disappeared into the ground before the other templars could smite her. Andarta dove forward to stab with her own daggers as the assassin ducked. Her aim was slightly too low, and her dagger struck the templar's armor. She drew back.

"Champion of Kirkwall," the Orlesian drew back as well, and his words caused his comrades to hesitate. "Fancy seeing _you _here."

"Nameless Templar of Orlais!" Andarta whirled her daggers back. "Got a little lost yourself, have you?"

He smirked without mirth. "I'd think a little more about what I'm doing if I were you. The Maker shows mercy to those who repent, but only those who live long enough to do so."

"The Maker hates hypocrites," she shot back, "and no hypocrite am I. Why don't you leave the mage-keeping to the templars who actually belong here?"

"And abandon Ferelden in your time of need? That would be a crime."

"Hawke," Zevran turned his head, "that trick of yours would be good right about now."

Andarta did not want to resort to that just yet. This Orlesian was actually talking to her, which was an opportunity she did not want to miss.

"The King knows you are here," she said to the templar, "His vassals know that you are here. If you do not leave, eventually they will force you out."

"If they try, we will annul the Circle."

She managed to suppress the rush of cold rage that flooded through her. "Then you will lose the only mages who are willing to do your bidding."

"Willing to do _our _bidding?"

"Think about it," she pointed out, "Magic exists to serve man. How can it, if you kill those who wield it? Right now, the Free Marches is in chaos. You need all the good examples you can get. Killing the Ferelden magi will only cause more resentment and hatred. If you leave them be, they may even quell the mage uprising for you, and you may earn the good will of Ferelden's King. Imagine what a _service _that would be to the Chantry, and to the Maker."

"You talk a good talk. Can you deliver? You hold no sway over these mages."

"No, but the Hero of the Blight does. You might have heard of her."

"That _witch,_" the Orlesian spat, and Andarta felt Zevran almost vibrate with anger. "The demons will take over before she does any good for the Chantry!"

"She did more good than you ever will!" Zevran hissed. "And if you rotten vermin lay a finger on her—"

"That _witch _discovered the ashes of Andraste," Andarta interrupted. "I suppose that is a disservice to the Chantry?"

The Orlesian blinked.

Andarta sheathed her own blades, knowing that Zevran's were still out.

"Go home," she ordered.

He also sheathed his sword. "How about I make you a deal. You bring me the Warden-Commander, and I _will _go home."

"Why don't you find her yourself? She's rather easy to find."

"I have orders to arrest the Warden-Commander and bring her to the Divine."

_Of course you do._ Sensing that things might take a bad turn, Andarta summoned the spiders again so they could work while she continued to talk. "Then arrest her. Why sneak around?"

He sneered. "You know why. The Grey Wardens are disgustingly loyal to their commander."

"Indeed, she's only the Hero of the Blight," Zevran sneered right back.

One of the other templars grunted something in Orlesian.

"This is a waste of time," Zevran huffed. Andarta turned to remonstrate him, but he was no longer there.

The templar helmets limited their visual field. Zevran was upon them as she raised her head, and within seconds one of them gurgled, blood bubbling from his lips.

"Arainai!" Andarta snapped, but it was too late.

"J'aurais dû me douter que Fereldens sont rien de plus que des barbares!" The Orlesian roared, and his blade flashed out of its scabbard and dove straight for her.

_Zevran Arainai you imbecile!_Andarta thought as she spun out of the way while unsheathing her own blades, seething. _I'm going to kill you when this is over!_


End file.
